



































THE BOOK OF THE 
AMERICAN INDIAN 


e 











An Indian Scout 


Tilustration from 
A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS 
by Frederic Remington 
Originally published by 
R. H. Russert, 1901 


THE BOOK OF THE 
AMERICAN INDIAN 


Written by 
HAMLIN GARLAND 


Member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters 


Pictured by 
FREDERIC REMINGTON 





Harper & Brothers Publishers 
New York and London 


THE BOOK OF THE 
AMERICAN INDIAN 


Copyright, 1923 
By Hamlin Garland 
Printed in the U.S.A. 





G-B 


CONTENTS 


WanraH—A Spartan MorumrR .......... 
ey ap a ae ti 2 Lan Oe, era 


SeeeemeLTVER S WARNING . . .)e.c ee ee 6 ee 


Peenvory ss Oup GUARD «-. . . 2. os ea ee 
IE: CON eS fe ii Soh eas iy Bee 


EPI AN tf A oe hE eee eS 8 
Tue Story oF Howuinc WoLF .......... 


Meme TENT WATERS .°. 0, 2 3. 3. we ee ew ls 


I. Tuer BEGINNINGS OF eae Tania re ee cs 


TI. OTIC YIAND. COUNCIE, 405 2c oS 
Til. Tue Barrie or tHE Big grant es Pe, Dh, 
IV. Dark Days op WINTER . 


V. Tue Cuier SURRENDERS HIMSELF. .. . 
VI. INL DET VIET 5 UA io cient ok ks 
VII. Hse Oprosep ALL ares Fn RUNS 
VIII. Tur Rerurn of THE SPIRITS. ..... 
IX. Tue Messace or Kicxine Bear... . 
2 .@ Tur Dance BreGINS.... a eae 
XI Tue BREAKING OF THE Paes Pipe ie 
XII. Tur Cuier Proposes a TEST ..... 
XIII. Tue Curer Puans a JoURNEY ..... 
XIV. Tur Deata or THE CHIEF. ...... 


a Oe 12. 6: Fee 


oe -& 8.5. 6 96 


e e e 


Si7 he) JO pe, ie 


ee ne DAN err 


° ° ° ° 


Cy Os eV er te 


te 2 Ss 6m eS 


C. e Tell en Ze 





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


IANEINDIAN SCOUT... s 5 3c) ; 
PETERS VUATD IN yo, |e. ola) of fale wie: 6 le es ee 
Tan Rep Man's Parcen Post .......+.e0e-8 
A Cow-puncuer VisitiING AN INDIAN oeree Tere apes 
SPM LNDTAN Gite ore pha: Use eal 6 a le tae ox 
Ar an ApacHe INDIAN AGENCY ........ 5 ea 
Tus Romantic ADVENTURE OF OLD Sun’s WIFE 
am Memicove MaAn’s SIGNAL... . 5... 1 ee we 
SE TERE PLA NOWM Go bce.) a hs ee hcg eS ee ee 
Bee AM INDIAN RKESHRVATION (9... 0... <2. 5 3 
RPI @ LC THEN T So Se Ste Wel es ale ese in 
A Mopern Comancut Inpian. ........... 
A Banp op Pircan INDIANS IN THE MounrAINS 
PERE PRINTS IN. THE: SNOW . 0. 6 ke eke 6 eee 
GERONIMO AND His Banp RETURNING FROM A Rap IN 
BUEN el one eb elie oid ee ete ak Goyal erie ack e 
EDISEA ME TSEAV EH 5 e020.) oe Bed ee es ee) fe ae te de 
MPT IIVIAN <COAMD. 62) 0 eh sy ap delete tas oe ech 
Crow Inprans Frrina Into THE AGENCY 
Bereretian TRAPPER. .°. 6 « oa ee 2o0 8 Se ee: 
A QUESTIONABLE COMPANIONSHIP ........266 
Tam Amamst op THe SCOUT . 6 2.6 3 5 et tt ew 
OS SEND ep Rea 
CHEYENNE Scouts PaTRoLLING THE Bia TIMBER OF THE 
Norta CANADIAN, OKLAHOMA .... ari 
INDIANS RECONNOITERING FROM A NE ere 
THe Brave CHEYENNES WERE RUNNING THROUGH THE 
MaRS PROT IT AS ),)|:.° so se 6 cates ea 4.» Melee Ae ue 
CAMPAIGNING IN WINTER ......-.- RA ye ss 2 
RMROMAG  DOLDINES “2. e0c. 6) bynes a luecea 6 sel raheem 
MPMERSTA Ne LITTWAM | <0.5 vec. el Sly! able wie ate aleeenes 
Seen THE TLANGI 60 Wein eee e lates fae eens 
An Otp-trime NortHerN Puains INDIAN. ...... 
Pen LAN, Crten of oak ace eae eh ee ee saa tees 
A Fantasy rrom THE Pony War Dance ...... 
Cuis-Cuis-Cuasu Scout ON THE FLANKS ....... 
i Pde ne ae wh ot elton’ ole Wee gir caee tana es 
ueorim Larrim Big Horn 2 4... 6.506 4g see ee 


oe 6. Cees ie Oe FO le 


66 


Fronitis. 


116 
122 
123 
138 
139 
152 
158 


174 
175 


186 
187 
200 
201 
212 
213 
226 
236 
237 
260 
261 








‘ 


ay 
1 


. wi 
ieee 


8 Bh Bec! 
aie 


isi) 
a Pa 





WAHIAH—A SPARTAN 
MOTHER 





THE BOOK OF THE 
AMERICAN INDIAN 


WAHIAH—A SPARTAN MOTHER 
I 


ROM a casual point of view the Indian Agency at Darling- 
|F) ton was dull and commonplace if not actually dispiriting, 

The sun blazed hot in the roadway which ran between the 
licensed shops, the office and the issue house. Lean dogs were 
slinking about. A few bedraggled red women with shawls over 
their heads stood talking softly together on the trader’s porch. A 
group of warriors in the shade of the blacksmith shop were discussing 
some ancient campaign, while now and then a clerk in shirt sleeves, 
his hands full of papers, moved across the plaza, his step quickened 
by the sting of the sun. 

A little back from the street the school building sat bleakly 
exposed on the sod, flanked on each side by still more inhospitable 
dormitories—all humming with unseen life. Across the river—the 
one grateful, gracious touch of all—the yellowed conical tents of the 
Cheyennes rose amidst green willows, and far beyond, on the beau- 
tiful velvet green of the prairies, their untethered ponies fed. 

To the careless observer this village was lonely, repulsive; to the 
sympathetic mind it was a place of drama, for there the passions, 
prejudices, ancestral loves and hates of two races met and clashed. 

There the man of the polished stone age was trying, piteously, 
tragically trying, to take on the manner of life of a race ten thousand 
years in advance of him, and there a few devoted Quakers were 


[1] 


The Book of the American Indian 


attempting to lead the nomads into the ways of the people of the 
plow. 

The Cheyennes, at the time practically military prisoners, had 
given but a nominal consent to the education of their children, and 
many individuals openly opposed it. For the most part the pupils 
in the school wore buckskin shirts and were the wastrels and orphans 
of the tribe, neglected and stupid. The fine, bold sons of the 
principal chiefs would not surrender their freedom, and their con- 
tempt for those who did was expressed in the cry, ““Ahyah! White- 
man, Whiteman!” 

It will appear that the problem before the teacher of the Chey- 
enne and Arapahoe school in those days was not merely to govern 
the pupils in the schoolroom, but to induce men like Tomacham 
and Tontonava to send their own brave and handsome sons. With 
great native wit and shrewdness, Seger, the newly appointed 
master, said to the agent: ‘“‘Our point of attack is the child. 
The red man’s love for his offspring is very deep. We must also 
convince the mothers. They are the conservative forces.” 

The young teacher, Seger, had already won many friends among 
the chief men by his unfailing helpfulness as well as sympathy with 
their ways, and not content with the few pupils he had, he went 
out among the tepees pleading the cause of education’ with the 
fathers in the hearing of the mothers. 

The old men listened gravely and for the most part courteously— 
never interrupting, weighing each word as it fell. Some of them 
admitted the reasonableness of his plea. “‘ We think you are telling 
us the truth,” they said, “but our hearts will not let us go with you 
on the road. We love the old things. We do not like these new 
things. We despise the white man’s clothing—we do not want our 
sons to go crop-haired like a black man. We have left the warpath 
—never to go back to it. What is before us we do not know—but 
we are not yet ready to give our children into your hands.” And 
the women sitting near applauded and said, “Aye, aye!” 


[2] 


Wahiah—A Spartan Mother 


Seger argued: “What will you do? The buffaloes are gone. 
The elk and deer are going. Your sons cannot live by hunting— 
they must live as the white man lives—by tilling the earth.” 

“All that is strange,” darkly answered Tomacham. ‘‘We are 
as the Great Spirit made us. We cannot change. If the Great One 
wished us to be white why did He not make us so in the first 
place?” : 

Nevertheless, Seger’s words sank deep in the ears of Tomacham 
and Wahiah, his wife, and one day the chief appeared at the door 
of the school bringing his son Atokan, a splendid young lad of 
fourteen—handsome as a picture of Hiawatha, with his fringed 
leggins, beaded shirt, shining, braided hair and painted cheeks. 
Behind—a long way back—came the mother. 

**You see I have brought my son,”’ began the chief after Seger’s 
delighted greeting. | 

“It is good. He will make a fine man.” 

The chief’s face clouded. “I do not bring him to become like 
these,’ and he pointed at a couple of stupid, crop-haired boys who 
stood gaping at him. “I bring my son to learn to read and write, 
but he must not be clipped and put into white man’s clothing. He 
can follow your ways without losing his hair. Our way of dress 
pleases us better.” 

Seger was obstinate. “I will not take him. If he comes he must 
do as the rest—and he must obey me!” 

The old chief stood in silence looking on his son, whose grace 
and dignity appealed even to the teacher’s unzsthetic mind, and 
his eyes grew dim with prophetic sadness. The mother drew near, 
and Tomacham turned and spoke to her and told her what the 
white man said. 

*“No, no!” she wailed. 

Then Tomacham was resolved: “No, my friend, I cannot do it. 
Let me have him one more day. I cannot bear to leave him to 
become a white man to-day. See, there is his mother, waiting, 


[3] 








The Book of the American Indian 





weeping; let him be a small, red brave till to-morrow. I have given 
my word; I will bring him.” 

With some understanding of the chief’s ache in the heart Seger 
consented, and Tomacham let his young warrior stay home for one 
more day of the old kind. 

What sorrowful ceremonies took place in that well-smoked tepee 
Seger did not know, but next day the chief came again; he was 
very sorrowful and very tender, but the boy’s face was sullen, his 
head drooping. 

Slowly the father said: “‘Friend, I have thought all night of 
what you have said to me. The mother is singing a sad song in our 
tepee, but we have decided. We give our boy into your hands; 
teach him the road.” . 

And with a quiet word to his son the heroic red man turned and 
went away to hide his quivering lips. It was as if he had given his 
son to an alien tribe, never to see him again. 

When the mother saw her boy next day she burst into a moan 
of resentful pain. All his wild, free grace was gone. His scissored 
hair was grotesque. His clumsy gray coat pinched his shoulders, 
his trousers were absurdly short, and his boots hard and clumsy. 
He slunk into the circle of the fire like a whipped dog and would not 
lift his head even in reply to questions. Tomacham smoked hard to 
keep back the tears, but his mind was made up, his word given. 
“We are on the road—we cannot turn back,” he said, though it 
cut him to the heart to see his eaglet become a barnyard fowl. 


Il 


By this time Seger had reduced the school to something like 
order, and the pupils were learning fast; but truancy continued to 
render his afternoon sessions farcical, for as soon as they had eaten 
their midday meal many of the children ran away to the camp 
across the river and there remained the entire afternoon. Others 
paid no heed to the bell, but played on till weary before returning 

[4] 





Wahiah—A Spartan Mother 


to the school. In all this rebellion Atokan was a leader, and Seger, 
after meditating long, determined on a form of discipline which 
might have appalled the commander of a regiment of cavalry. He 
_ determined to apply the rod. : 

Now this may seem a small thing, but it was not; it was a very 
momentous thing. It was indeed the most dangerous announce- 
ment he could make to a warlike tribe chafing under restraint, for 
red people are most affectionate parents and very seldom lay 
violent hands upon their children or even speak harshly to them. 
Up to this time no white man had ever punished a red child, and 
when Seger spoke to the agent about it he got no help; on the 
contrary, the old Quaker said: 

“Friend Seger, I think thee a very rash young man and I fear 
thee will involve us all in a bloody outbreak.” ‘Then he added, 
*Can’t thee devise something else?” 

“IT must have discipline,” argued Seger. “I can’t have my 
pupils making a monkey of me. There are only four or five that need 
welting, and if you give me leave to go ahead I'll make ’em toe the 
mark; otherwise, I'll resign.” 

“Thee can go ahead,” testily exclaimed the agent. “But thee 
sees how we are situated. We have no troops in call. Thee knows, 
also, that I do not approve of force; and yet,” he added, in reflec- 
tion, ““we have made a failure of the school—thee alone seems. to 
have any control of the pupils. It is not for me to criticize. Pro- 
ceed on thy way, but I will not be responsible for any trouble thee 
may bring upon thyself.” 

“IT will take all that comes,” responded Seger—who had been 
trained in the school of the Civil War, “‘and I will not involve 
you in any outbreak.” 

That night Seger made his announcement: “Hereafter every 
scholar must obey my bell—and return to the schoolroom promptly. 
Those who do not will be whipped.” 

The children looked at him as if he had gone crazy. 

[5] 





The Book of the American ieuan 





He went on: “Go home and tell your people. Ask them to think 
it over—but remember to be here at sunset, and after this every 
bell must be obeyed instantly.” 

The children ran at once to the camp, and the news spread like 
some invisible vapor, and soon every soul in the entire agency, red 
and white alike, was athrill with excitement. The half-breeds 
(notoriously timorous) hastened to warn the intrepid schoolmaster: 
“Don’t do that. They will kill you.” The old scouts and squaw- 
men followed: “‘Young feller, you couldn’t dig out of the box a 
nastier job—you better drop it right now and skip.” 

“TI am going to have discipline,” said Seger, “‘or tan the jacket 
of every boy I’ve got.” 

Soon after this he met Tomacham and Tontonava, both men of 
great influence. After greeting him courteously Tomacham said: 

“1 hear that you said you were going to whip our children. Is 
this true?” 

“It is!’ answered Seger, curtly. 

“That is very wrong and very foolish,” argued Tontonava. 
“We did not give our children into your care to be smitten with 
rods as the soldiers whip mules.” 

“Tf the children act like mules I will whip them,” persisted Seger: 
“IT punish only bad children—I do not beat good ones.” 

**It is not our custom to strike our children. Do you think we 
will permit white men to do so?” asked Tontonava, breathing hard. 

Assuming an air of great and solemn deliberation, Seger said, 
using the sign language to enforce his words: “Go home and think 
of this. The Great Father has built this schoolhouse for your children. 
He has given them warm clothing and good food. He has given 
them beds to sleep in and a doctor to help them when they are sick. 
Now listen. Miokany is speaking. So long as they enjoy all these 
things they are bound to obey me. They must obey me, their 
teacher,” and he turned and left the two old men standing there, 
amazed and indignant. 


[6] 








Ware satoeAs Spartan Mother 


That night all the camps were filled with a discussion of this 
wondrous thing. Seger’s threat was taken up formally by the men in 
council and informally by the women. It was pivotal, this question 
of punishment—it marked their final subjection to the white man. 

“If we lose our children, then surely we are doomed to extinc- 
tion,” Tomacham said. 

“Let us fight!” cried ‘fierce Unko. ‘What is the use of sitting 
here like chained wolves till we starve and die?” Let us go out against 
this white man and perish gloriously.”” And a few applauded him. 

But the graver men counseled patience and peace. 

**We do not fear death—but we do not wish to be bound and sent 
away into the mysterious hot lands where our brethren languish.” 

“Then let us go to the school and frighten ‘Johnny Smoker’ so 
that he will not dare to whip any child,” cried Unko. 

To this Tomacham answered: “‘Johnny Smoker’ is my friend. 
I do not wish to harm him. Let us see him again and counsel with 
him.” 

*“No,” answered Unko. ‘“‘Let us face him and command him 
to let our children alone. If he strikes my child he must die.” 

And to this many of the women cried out in piercing nasal tones: 
“Ah, that is good—do that!” 

But Wahiah, the mother of Atokan, looked at the ground and 
remained silent. 


HT 


When the pupils next assembled they were as demure as quails, 
and Seger knew that they had been warned by their parents not to 
incur their teacher’s displeasure; but Atokan looked aside, his 
proud head lifted. Beside him sat a fine boy, two years younger, 
son of Unko, and it was plain that they were both ready to rebel. 

The master recognized the gravity of the moment. If he did 
not punish, according to his word, his pupils would despise him, his 
discipline was at an end; and to stripe the backs of these high- 


[7] 





The Book of the American Indian 





spirited lads was to invite death—that he knew better than any 
white man could tell him. To provoke an outbreak would be a 
colossal crime, and yet he was a stubborn little man—persistent as 
a bulldog—capable of sacrificing himself in working out a theory. 
When a friendly half-breed came late that night and warned him 
that the camp was in debate whether to kill him or not he merely 
said: “‘You tell them I am doing the will of the Great Father at 
Washington and I am not afraid. What they do to me will fly to 
Washington as the light flies, and the soldiers will come back as 
swiftly.” 

Immediately after school opened next morning several of the 
parents of the children came quickly in and took seats, as they were 
accustomed to do, along the back wall behind the pupils. They 
were graver than usual—but otherwise gave no sign of anger and 
remained decorously quiet. Among them was Wahiah. 

The master went on with firm voice and ready smile with the 
morning’s work, well aware that the test of his authority would 
come after intermission, when he rang the bell to recall his little 
squad to their studies. 

As the children ran out to play all the old people followed and 
took seats in the shade of the building, silent and watchful. The 
assistant teacher, a brave little woman, was white with excitement 
as Seger took the bell some ten minutes later and went to the door 
personally to give the signal for return. He rang as cheerily as if he 
were calling to a feast, but many of the employees shuddered as if 
it were their death knell. 

The larger number of the children came scurrying, eager to show 
their obedience, but a squad of five or six of the boys remained 
where they were, as if the sound of the bell had not reached them. 
Seger rang again and called personally: “‘Come, boys, time to work.” 

At this three others broke away from the rebellious group and 
came slowly toward him, but Atokan and the son of Unko turned 
toward the river. 


[8] 








A Kiowa Maiden 


That Indian parents are very proud of their children’s 
progress is evidenced by the eagerness with which they send 
their sons and daughters to the schools established by the 
Government on the different Indian reservations. The 
Kiowa maiden here pictured is one of the many Indian 
girls and boys who more and more are availing themselves 
of the opportunity to obtain an education and thus fit 
themselves to take their places in civilized society. 


Illustration from 
THE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOW 
by Richard Harding Davis 


Originally published in 
Harper’s WEEKLY, May 14, 1892 





The Red Man’s Parcel Post 


Illustration from 
A PILGRIM ON THE GILA 
by Owen Wister 


Originally published in 
Harper’s MaGazine, November, 1895 








Wahiah—A Spartan Mother 


Seger made a pleasant little speech to the obedient ones and 
ended: “I know we are to be good friends in the future as we have 
been in the past,”’ but a little shiver passed over the school as he went 
out, stern faced and resolute, to recall the truants. 

The wife of Unko rose and scuttled away to give the alarm, but 
Wahiah stood with her robe drawn over her lips as if in struggle to 
repress a cry. Tomacham smoked on quietly, waiting the issue. 

Meanwhile, Atokan strolled along the path, shooting his arrow 
at small objects on the ground, apparently oblivious of his teacher’s 
hastening footsteps. 

When within hearing Seger called: ‘‘You know the rules, 
Atokan. Why do you not answer the bell?” 

Atokan made no reply, and Seger was tempted to lay hands upon 
him; but to do this would involve a smart chase, and, besides, he 
was too wise to seem to be angry. He followed the boys, pleading 
with them, till Atokan turned and said: “You go away. Bimeby 
I come.” 

*“You must come now!” 

“You going whip me?”’ 

“Yes!” 

“Then I don’t come.” 

After half an hour of this humiliating parley Seger had the 
dubious satisfaction of seeing the truant set his face toward the 
schoolroom—for Atokan knew his father and mother were waiting, 
and into his heart came the desire to test “Johnny Smoker’s” 
courage. With insolent slowness he led the way past the group of 
his elders, on into the schoolroom, followed by twenty-five or thirty 
Cheyennes and Arapahoes. Some of the men were armed and all 
were stern. The women’s faces were both sour and sad. It was 
plain that something beside brute force must be employed in dealing 
with the situation. Seger knew these people. Turning suddenly to 
Tomacham he asked: 

‘My friend, what do you send your children to school for?” 

[9] 














The Book of the American Taian 


Taken by surprise, the chief hesitated. ‘To learn to read and 
write and speak like the white man.” 

‘What do you think I am here for?” 

“To show our children the way,” he reluctantly answered. 
‘But not to punish them.” 

Seger was addressing the women through the chief. ‘“‘Do you 
think I can teach your children if they are out shooting birds?” 

“No, I do not think so.” 

“Do you think it would be honest if I took pay for teaching 
your children and let them run to camp all the time?” 

“No, I think it is necessary that the children be kept in school— 
but you must not whip them.” 

Seger faced Unko. “What kind of a person do you want to have 
teach your children—a liar?” 

*“No, a liar is bad for them.” 

Unko saw the drift of Seger’s remarks, and he moved about 
uneasily, the butt of his pistol showing from beneath his blanket. 

Seger then said in a loud voice, “I am not a liar!’’ and repeated 
this in signs. ‘“‘I told your children I would whip them if they did 
not obey me, and now I am going to doit! You know me; I do not 
say ‘I am your friend,’ and then work evil to your children. Jack, 
come here!” A little boy rose slowly and came and stood beside 
his teacher, who went on: “‘This is an orphan. He was dying in 
his grandmother’s tepee when I went to him. I took him—I 
nursed him—TI sat by his bed many nights when you were asleep. 
Jennie,” he called again, “you come to me!” A shy little girl with 
scarred face tiptoed to her beloved teacher. “‘This one came to me 
so covered with sores that she was terrible to see. I washed her— 
she was almost blind. I made her see. I have done these things 
many times. There is not a child here that has not been helped by 
me. I am not boasting—this is my duty, it is the work the Great 
Father has told me to do. It is my work also to make your children 
obey me. Iam the friend of allred men. I have eaten in your lodges. 


[10] 


Wahiah—A Spartan Mother 


I have been in council with you. Iam nota liar. It is my duty to 
whip disobedient children, and I will doit. Atokan, come up here!” 

The boy rose and came forward, a smoldering fire in his black 
eyes. As Seger laid a hand on his shoulder and took up his whip 
Wahiah uttered a shuddering moan. A sinister stir went through the 
room. ‘The white man’s dominion was about to be put to the final 
test. In Wahiah’s heart a mighty struggle was in progress. Love 
and pride in her son demanded that she put an end to the whipping, 
but her sense of justice, her love for Seger and her conviction that 
the boy was wrong kept her fixed and silent, though her lips quiv- 
ered and the tears ran down her face. Tomacham’s broad breast 
heaved with passion, but he, too, remained silent. 

“Will you obey me?” asked the master. 

Receiving no answer, he took firm hold of Atokan’s collar and 
addressed the spectators. “Little Unko is younger than Atokan. 
He was led away by him. I will therefore give both whippings to 
Atokan,” and he brought the hissing withe down over the boy’s 
shoulders. Again a moan of involuntary protest went through the 
room. Never before had a white man struck a Cheyenne child and 
remained unpunished for his temerity—and no other man, not even 
the agent himself, could have struck that blow and survived the 
wrath of Tomacham. 

Atokan seized the lapel of his coat in his teeth, and bit hard in 
order to stifle any moan of pain the sting of the whip might wring from 
him. His was the heart of a warrior, for, though the whip fell hissing 
with speed he uttered no cry, and when the rod was worn to a frag- 
ment he remained silent as a statue, refusing to answer a single word. 

Seger, convinced that the punishment was a failure unless it 
conquered the culprit, caught up another willow withe and wore it 
out upon him, to no effect—for, casting a glance at the pieces lying 
on the floor, the boy’s lips curled in a smile of disdain as if to say: 
*T am a warrior; I do not cry!”’ 

Realizing his failure, Seger caught him with a wrestler’s twist, 


[11] 








THE aook of the American Indian 


threw him across his knee, and beat him with the flat of his hand. 
The suddenness of this attack, the shame of the attitude, added to 
the pain he was already suffering, broke the boy’s proud spirit. He 
burst into loud lamentation, dropped to the floor, and lay in a heap, 
sobbing like a child. 

Straightening up, the teacher looked about him, expecting to 
meet a roused and ready group of warriors. Every woman and all 
the children were wildly moaning and sobbing. The men with stern 
and sorrowful faces were struggling in silence to keep back the tears. 
The resolute little white man had conquered by his logic, his justice, 
his bravery. 

**Atokan, will you obey me?” he asked. 

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered—his spirit broken. 

Turning to the mother, Seger very gently said: “‘I do not like to 
do this, Wahiah; it hurts my heart as it does yours, but it was 
necessary. Tomacham, once I was a soldier—like you. I was taught 
to obey. You may kill me for this, but the Great Father at Wash- 
ington will say, ‘Miokany died doing his duty.’ I know how hard it 
is for you to plow and reap and do as the white man does, but it must 
be done or you will die. Your children can do nothing till they learn 
to speak the tongue. I am here to do that work. The children must 
stay in school. They must obey me. I do not whip good children 
who obey—only those who are bad. Now you old people go home 
and think over what I have said, and we will return to our lessons.” 

Then a wonderful, an incredible, thing happened! Tomacham 
rose and took Seger’s hand and shook it silently in token of con- 
viction. But Wahiah, the mother of Atokan, with tears still stream- 
ing down her cheeks, pressed the teacher’s hand in both of hers and 
looked into his face as if to speak, but could not; then snatching 
her son’s symbols of freedom, his bow and arrows, she broke them 
over her knee and stamped on the fragments in the face of all the 
school. “Obey Miokany,” she commanded, with Spartan vigor, and, 
turning swiftly, went out, followed by the sad and silent chieftain. 

[12] 


NISTINA 





NISTINA 


‘4 “HERE was lamentation in the lodges of Sunmaker’s people, 
for the white soldiers had taken away the guns of Hawk’s 
young warriors, and now they were to be sent away into lands 

of captivity. Huddled in big wagons, the young men sat, downcast 

and sullen, ashamed to weep, yet choking with grief and despair. 

*“Had I known this,” said Hawk to the captain of the escort, 
“TI would have died fighting,” and this defiant word he uttered 
in the harsh, booming tone of a village crier. It was heard by 
everyone in the camp, and the old women broke forth into wailing 
war songs, which made the fingers of sedate old sages clinch. 

But the blue-coated soldiers, ranked and ready, stood with 
loaded guns in their hands, calmly observant, and the colonel sat 
his horse, not far away, ready to give the signal for departure. 

Hawk, young, handsome, and reckless, for some ruffianism put 
upon him by a band of cattlemen, had organized a raid of retalia- 
tion, and for this outbreak the government was sending him and his 
band to Florida—a hot, strange land, far in the South. He, as its 
unconquered leader, sat bound and helpless in one of the head 
wagons, his feet chained to a rod, his hands ironed, and working like 
the talons of an eagle. 

It was hard to sit thus in the face of his father and mother, 
but it was harder yet to know that Nistina, the daughter of Sun- 
maker, with her blanket over her face, sat weeping at the door of 
her father’s lodge. All the girls were moaning, and no one knew 
that Nistina loved Hawk—no one but her inseparable friend, 
Macosa, the daughter of Crane. 

Hawk knew it, for they had often met at the river’s edge of a 
morning, when she came for water. 


[15] 





The Bonk of the American Indian 


Now they were to part without one word of love, with no touch 
of hands, never to see each other again, for it was well known 
that those who went into that far country never returned—the 
breath of the great salt water poisoned them. 

At last the colonel uttered a word of command. A bugle rang 
out. The piercing cries of the bereaved women broke forth again, 
wild and heart-breaking: the whips cracked like pistol shots, the 
mules set their shoulders to the collars, and the blue chariots 
and their hopeless captives moved slowly out across the prairie. 

Hawk turned his head and caught one last glance from Nistina 
as she lifted her face to him, flung her robe over her head, and fell 
face downward on the earth, crushed, broken, and despairing. 

With teeth set like those of a grizzly bear, the young chief 
strained at his cords, eager to fight and die in the face of his tribe, 
but the white man’s cruel chains were too strong. He fell back 
exhausted, too numb with despair to heed the taunt of the white 
soldier riding beside the wheel, cynical, profane, and derisive. 

And while the young prisoner sat thus, with bowed head and 
low-hanging, lax hands, the little village of his people was lost to 
view—hidden by the willows on the river’s bank. 

In the months which followed, the camp of Sunmaker resumed 
its accustomed round of duties and pleasure. The babes rollicked 
on the grass, the old men smoked placidly in their council lodges, 
and planned their next buffalo hunt; the children went reluctantly 
to the agency school of a morning, and came home with flying feet at 
night. All seemed as placid as a pool into which a suicide has sunk; 
but no word came to Nistina, from whose face the shadow never 
lifted. She had never been a merry girl like Macosa. She had 
been shy and silent and wistful even as a child, and as the months 
passed without a message from Hawk, she moved to her duties as 
silent as a shadow. Macosa, when the spring came again, took 
another lover, and laughed and said, “They have forgotten us, 
that Elk and Hawk.” 

[16] 


Nistina 


Nistina had many suitors, for was she not Sunmaker’s daughter, 
and tall and handsome besides? Mischievous Macosa, even after : 
her marriage, kept her friend’s secret, but she .could not forbear 
to tease her when they were alone together. “Hawk is a bad young 
man,’ she said. “He has found another girl by this time. Why 
don’t you listen to Kias?”” To such questions Nistina made no 
answer. 

At the end of a year even Sunmaker, introspective as he was, 
could not fail to remark upon her loneliness. “My daughter, why 
do you seem so sad? There are many young men singing sweet 
songs for you to hear, yet you will not listen. It is time you took 
thought of these things.” 

“I do not wish to marry,” she replied. 

Then the old father became sorrowful, for he feared his loved one 
had placed her heart on some white soldier, and one day he called 
her to him and said: “My daughter, the Great Spirit decreed that 
there should be people of many colors on the earth. He called 
each good in his place, but it is not good that they mate one with 
the other. If a white man comes to speak soft words into your 
ears, turn away. He will work evil, and not good. Why do you 
not take a husband among your own people, as others do, and be 
content? You are of the age when girls marry.” 

To this she replied: “My heart is not set on any white man, 
and I do not wish to marry. Let me stay with you and help to 
keep your lodge.” 

' The old man’s voice trembled as he said: “My daughter, since 
my son is gone, you are my staff. It is good to see you in our 
lodge, but I do not like to see you sad.” 

Then she pretended to laugh, and said, “I am not sad,” and ran 
away. 

When she was gone Sunmaker called Vetcora and told her what 
had happened. She smoked the pipe he handed to her and listened 
patiently. When he had finished speaking, she said: 

[17] 





The Bent of the American Indian 





**She will come round all right. All girls are not alike. By 
and by the true one will come, and then you’ll see her change her 
song. She will be keeping her own lodge soon.” 

But Sunmaker was troubled by his daughter’s frequent visits 
to the agency across the river, and by her intimacy with Neeta, 
the daughter of Hahko, who had been away to school, and who had 
returned much changed, being neither white woman nor red. 

She was living alone in a small hut on the river bank, and was 
not a good woman for Nistina to visit. 

He could not know that his daughter went there because Neeta 
could read the white man’s papers, and would know if anything 
had happened to Hawk. No one knew, either, that Nistina slyly 
asked about learning to read. She laughed when she asked these 
questions, as though the matter were of no consequence. ‘“‘ How long 
did it take you to learn to read? Is it very hard to learn to write?”’ 

“Oh no; it is very easy,” Neeta replied, boastingly, and when 
Nistina went away her eyes were very thoughtful. 

Again and again she called before she could bring herself to 
the point of asking Neeta to go with her to the head of the school. 

Neeta laughed. “‘Ho! Are you going to school? You will need 
to hump low over your toes, for you will go among the smallest girls.” 

Nistina did not waver. ‘“‘Come, go with me.” 

With a smile on her face Neeta led the way to the office of 
the superintendent. ‘Professor Morten, I bring you a new scholar.” 

Morten, a tall, grave-faced man, looked up from his desk, and 
said: “‘Why, it’s Nistina! Good morning, Nistina.” 

‘**Mornin’,”’ said she, as well as she could. 

“She wants to go to school, eh? Well, better late than never,” 
he added, with a smile. 

“Tell him I want to work and earn money,” said Nistina. 

When Neeta interpreted this, the teacher exclaimed: “Well, 
well! This is most astonishing! Why, I thought she hated the 
white man’s ways!” 


[18] 


Nistina 

*T think she want to marry white man,” remarked Neeta. 

Mr. Morten looked at her coldly. “‘Ihopenot. You’re a mighty 
smart girl, Neeta, but I don’t like the way you carry on.” 

Neeta smiled broadly, quite unabashed. “I’m all settled down 
now—no more skylarking round. I’m keeping house.” 

“Well, see that you keep settled. I don’t understand this change 
in Nistina, but you tell her Pll put her in charge of Mrs. Morten, 
and we'll do the best we can for her. But tell her to send all these 
white men away; tell her not to listen to them.” 

To Nistina Neeta said, “‘He says he will let you help his squaw, 
and she will teach you how to read and write.” 

Nistina’s heart failed her when she heard this, for she had seen 
Mrs. Morten many times, and had heard many disturbing stories 
of her harshness. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman, with 
keen gray eyes and a loud voice. 

At last Mr. Morten turned, and said: ‘“‘Nistina, you may come 
this afternoon after four o'clock, and we will arrange the whole 
matter. I am glad you are going to forsake Indian ways, which 
are very bad. Be a good girl, and you will be happy.” 

When Neeta had explained what he said Nistina burst into a 
low cry, and, covering her face with her blanket, rushed away. 

“That’s the last you’ll see of her,’ said Neeta, maliciously. 
“She likes the Indian ways best.” 

But Nistina was moved by a deeper impulse than fickle-hearted 
Neeta could comprehend. A sick boy had returned from Florida 
a few days before—a poor dyin g lad—and to Nistina he had brought 
word from young Hawk. “I am studying so that I can send words 
on paper, like the white man,” the message ran. “By and by I 
will send a white word to you.” 

This message instantly sank deep, although Nistina gave no 
sign. She had more than the usual shyness of the maidens of her 
tribe, and it was painful to her to have even this vague message 


transmitted by another. 
[19] 





The eat of the American Indian 


The girl thought long. She wished to send a message to her 
lover, but for some days could not bring herself to confide in Neeta. 
Days went by, and her resolution remained unformed. Nearly 
every evening she had been going to see Neeta, but always her 
courage had failed her, and then came the thought: “I, too, will 
learn to write and to read, and then I can tell him how much I love 
him, and that I will wait till I am old and I will love no one else.”’ 

There was a great deal of gossip among the red women. “She 
is going to marry a white soldier, that Nistina,” they said. ‘“‘She 
is working for money to buy fine beads and cloth.” 

*““It may be,” said her stepmother. “She does not open her 
heart to me. She talks no more than an owl.” 

The teachers marveled at ’Tina’s dullness in arithmetic and her 
amazing progress in writing. In an incredibly short time she was 
able to scrawl a note to her lover. It was a queer little letter, written 
with painful exactness, in imitation of the copybooks: 


I heard you words what you sent. They was good words. It made my 
heart glad that words Black Fox which he brought. I am wait all time for 
you. No one else is in my thoughts. This letter I am written me myself all 
lone—no one is help me. No one knows that I put it in puss-tofis. I send 
mogasuns. NISTINA. 


With this letter all stamped and directed, and the packages of 
moccasins, she hurried with beating heart to the store in which the 
post-office occupied a corner. There she hovered like a mother 
partridge about its nest, coming and going, till a favorable moment 
offered. She knew just what to do. She had rehearsed it all in 
her mind a hundred times, and when she had slipped the letter 
into the slit she laid the package on the window, and flew away to 
watch and to wait for a word from the far-away land. 

Weeks passed, and her heart grew sad and heavy. She dared. 
not ask for a letter, but lingered at the store till the clerks grew 
jocose and at last familiar, and her heart was bitter toward all 
white men. 


[20] 


Nistina 


In her extremity she went to Macosa, who was now a matronly 
wife, mother of a sturdy son, and asked her to go to the post-office 
and inquire for a letter. 

“*A letter!” exclaimed she. “Who is going to write you a letter?” 

After much persuasion she consented to go, but returned empty 
handed. She had only half regarded Nistina’s request, but as the 
tears came to her friend’s eyes, she believed, and all of the goodness 
of her heart arose, and she said: 

“Don’t cry. I will go every day and ask, if you wish me to.” 

It is hard to wait for a letter when the letter is the one thing 
in life worth waiting for, and Nistina was very silent and very 
sad all the time, and her mistress wondered at this; but her questions 
brought no reply from the girl, who kept at her writing diligently, 
steadily refusing to confuse her mind with other things. She did 
not seem to wish to talk—only to write at every spare moment, 
and each day her writing grew in beauty of line till it was almost 
as beautiful as the printed copy. 

At last she composed another letter: 


Hawk. My friend. I not hearing from you. If you are sick you don’t 
write. My heart is now very sad. May be you die by this time. Long time 
I am here waiting. Listening for your words I am standing each day. No one 
my loving but you. Come home you get away quick, for I all time waiting. 

NIistina. 


After she had mailed this Nistina suddenly lost all interest in 
her studies, and went back to the lodge of her father. In her 
heart she said: “If he does not answer me I will go out on the hill 
and cry till I die. I do not care to live if he is not coming to me.” 

She took her place in her father’s lodge as before, giving no 
explanation of her going nor the reason for her return. The kindly 
old chief smoked and gazed upon her sadly, and at last said, gently: 

“My daughter, you are sad and silent. Once you laughed and 
sang at your sewing. What has happened to you? My child has a 
dark face.” 7 


[21] 


The Book of the American Indian 





“T am older. I am no longer a child,” she said, unsmilingly. 

And at last, in the middle of the third winter, when the white 
people were giving presents to each other, a letter and a little 
package came for Nistina, and Macosa came running with them. 

“Here is your talking leaf,” she said. “‘Now I think you will 
laugh once more. Read it, for I am very curious.” 

But Nistina snatched the precious package and ran into her 
lodge, to be alone with her joy. 

It was a marvelous thing. There was the letter—a blue one— 
with her name spelled on it in big letters, Nistina, but she opened 
the package first. It contained a shining pouch, and in the pouch 
was a necklace of wondrous beads such as she had never seen, and 
a picture of her lover in white man’s dress. How strange he looked 
with his hair cut short! She hardly knew him. 

Her heart beat strong and loud as she opened the letter, and read 
the first words, “Nistina, I am loving you.” After that she was 
confused, for Hawk could not write as well as she, and she read 
with great trouble, but the end she understood—“I am coming 
home.” 

She rose and walked to her father’s lodge, where Macosa sat. 
She entered proudly, the letter in her hand. Her head was lifted, 
her eyes shone with pride. 

“My letter is from Hawk,” she said, quietly. “He is coming 
home.” 

And at this message Macosa and Vetcora covered their mouths 
in sign of inexpressible astonishment. 

Sunmaker smoked on with placid face till he began to under- 
stand it all; then he said: “My daughter, you warm my heart. 
Sit beside me and tell me of this wonderful thing.” 

Then she spoke, and her story was to him a sweet relief from 
care. “It is good,” he said. “Surely the white people are wonder- 
working beings.” 


[22] 


THE IRON KHIVA 





THE IRON KHIVA 
I 


high on the top of a mesa—far in the desert. Their houses 
rose like native forms of sandstone ledges on the crest of the 
rocky hills—seemed indeed a part of the cliffs themselves. 

To join the old women climbing the steep path laden with water 
bottles of goatskin, to mingle with the boys driving home the 
goats—and to hear the girls chattering on the roofs was to forget 
modern America. A sensitive nature facing such scenes shivered 
with a subtle transport such as travelers once felt in the presence 
of Egypt before the Anglo-Saxon globe trotter had vulgarized it. 
This pueblo was a thousand years old—and to reach it was an ex- 
ploration. Therefore, while the great Mississippi Valley was being 
overrun these simple folk lived apart. 

They were on the maps of Arizona, but of this they had no 
knowledge and no care. Some of them were not even curious to 
see the white man who covered the mysterious land beyond the 
desert. The men of mystery in the tribe, the priests and the sooth- 
sayers, deeply resented the prying curiosity and the noisy im- 
pertinence of the occasional cowboy who rode across the desert to 
see some of their solemn rites with snakes and owls. 

The white men grew in power just beyond the horizon line, but 
they asked no favors of him. They planted their corn in the sand 
where the floods ran, they guarded their hardy melons, and gathered 
their gnarled and rusty peaches year by year as contentedly as any 
people—chanting devout prayers and songs of thanksgiving to 
the deities that preside over the clouds and the fruitful earth. 

[25] 


AOR countless generations a gentle brown people had dwelt 








The Book of the American Indian 





They did not ask for the corrugated-iron roofs of the houses which 
an officious government built for them, nor for the little school- 
house which the insistent missionary built at the foot of their 
mesa. 

They were a gentle folk—small and round and brown of limb, 
peaceful and kindly. The men on their return from the fields at 
night habitually took their babes to their arms—and it was curious 
and beautiful to see them sitting thus on their housetops, waiting 
for supper—their crowing infants on their knees. Such action dis- 
turbed all preconceived notions of desert dwellers. 

They had their own governors, their sages, their physicians. 
Births and deaths went on among them accompanied by the same 
joy and sorrow that visit other human beings in greener lands. 
They did not complain of their desert. They loved it, and when at 
dawn they looked down upon the sapphire mists which covered it 
like a sea, song sprang to their lips, and they rode forth to their 
toil, caroling like larks. 

True, pestilences swept over them from time to time—and 
droughts afflicted them—but these they accepted as punishment 
for some devotional remission on their part and redoubled their 
zealous chants. They had no doubts, they knew their way of life 
was superior to that of their neighbors, the Tinné; and their tradi- 
tions of the Spaniards who had visited them, centuries before, were 
not pleasant—they put a word of fervent thanks into their songs 
that “the men of iron” came no more. 

But this new white man—this horseman who wore a wide hat— 
who sent pale-faced women into the desert to teach a new kind 
of song, and the worship of a new kind of deity—this restless keen- | 
eyed, decisive Americano came in larger numbers year by year. 
He insisted that all Pueblan ways were wrong—only his were 
right. 

Ultimately he built an Iron Khiva near the foot of the trail, and 
sent word among all the Pueblo peoples that they should come and 

[26] 


The Iron Khiva 


view this house—and bring their children, and leave them to learn 
the white man’s ways. 

“We do not care to learn the white man’s way,” replied the 
head men of the village. “‘We have our own ways, which are suited | 
to us and to our desert, ways we have come to love. We are afraid | 
to change. Always we have lived in this manner on this same rock, | 
in the midst of this sand. Always we have worn this fashion of 
garments—we did not ask you to come—we do not ask you to stay 
nor to teach our children. We are glad to welcome you as visitors— 
we do not want you as our masters.” 

“We have come to teach you a new religion,” said the missionary. 

“We do not need a new religion. Why should we change? Our 
religion is good. We understand it. Our fathers gave it to us. 
Yours is well for you—we do not ask you to change to ours. We 
are willing you should go your way—why do you insist on our 
accepting yours?” 

Then the brows of the men in black coats grew very stern, and 
they said: 

“If you do not do as we say and send your children to our Iron 
House to learn our religion, we will bring blue-coated warriors here 
to make you do so!” 

Then the little brown people retreated to their rock and said: 
“The iron men of the olden time have come again in a new guise,” 
and they were very sad, and deep in their cavelike temples in the 
rocks, they prayed and sang that this curse might pass by and leave 
them in peace once more. 

Nevertheless, there were stout hearts among them, men who 
said: “‘Let us die in defense of our homes! If we depart from the 
ways of our fathers for fear of these fierce strangers—our gods will 
despise us.” 

These bold ones pushed deep into the inner rooms of their 
khivas, and uncovered broken spears, and war clubs long unused— 
and restrung their rude bows and sharpened their arrows, while 


[27] 


The Book of the American Indian 


the sad old sages sang mournful songs in the sacred temples under 
ground—and children ceasing their laughter crept about in coveys 
like scared quail—dreading they knew not what. 

Then the white men withdrew, and for a time the Pueblans re- 
joiced. The peaceful life of their ancestors came back upon them. 
The men again rode singing to the purple plain at sunrise. The 
old women, groaning and muttering together, went down to the 
spring for water. The deft potters resumed their art—the girls 
in chatting, merry groups, plastered the houses or braided mats. 
The sound of the grinding of corn was heard in every dwelling. 

But there were those who had been away across the plain and 
who had seen whence these disturbing invaders came—they were 
still dubious—they waited, saying: “ We fear they will come again! 
They are like the snows of winter, bitter and not to be turned aside 
with words.” 


II 


Onze day they came again—these fierce, implacable white men— 
preceded by warriors in blue, who rode big horses—horses ten 
times as large as a burro, and they were all agrin like wild cats, 
and they camped near the Iron Khiva, and the war chief sent 
word to all the men of the hill to assemble, for he intended to 
speak to them. “Your Little Father is here also, and wishes to 
see you.” 

All night this imperious summons was debated by the fathers, 
and at last it was agreed that six old men should go down—six 
gray grandsires—and hear what this war chief had to say. 

“We can but die a few days before our time,” they said. ‘“‘If 
they carry us into the East to torture us—it will not be for long. 
Our old bones will soon fall apart.” 

So while all the villagers sat on their housetops to watch in silence 
and dread, the aged ones wrinkled, gray, and half blind, made their 
sad way down toward the peace grove in which the white lodges of 


[28] 


The Iron Khiva 


the warriors glittered. With unfaltering steps led by the chief priest 
of the Antelope Clan, they approached and stood in silence before 
the war chief of the bluecoats who came to meet them. Speaking 
through a Tinné interpreter, he said: 

“The Great Father, my chief, has sent me to tell you this. You 
must do as this man says,” and he pointed at the man in black. 
‘He is your teacher. He has come to gather your children into that 
Iron House and teach them the white man’s ways. If you don’t— 
if you make war—then I will go up against you with my warriors 
and my guns that go boom, boom, boom, a hundred times, and I will 
destroy you. These are the commands of my chief.” 

When the old men returned with this direful message, despair 
seized upon the people. “Evil times are again upon us,” they cried. 
“Surely these are the iron men more terrible than before.” 

They debated voluminously all night long, and at last decided 
to fight—but in the early morning a terrible noise was heard below 
on the plain, and when they rushed to see—behold the warriors in 
blue were rushing to and fro on their horses, shouting, firing off 
their appalling weapons. It was plain they were doing a war dance 
out of wanton strength, and so terrible did they seem that the hearts 
of the small people became as wax. ‘‘We can do nothing against 
such men; they are demons; they hold the thunder in the palms of 
their hands. Let us submit; perhaps they will grow weary of the 
heat and sand and go away. Perhaps they will long for their wives 
and children and leave us. We will wait.” 

Others said: “‘Let us send our children—what will it matter? 
We can watch over them, they will be near us, and we can see that 
they do not forget our teachings. Our religion will not vanish out of 
their minds.” 

So the old men went again to the war chief, and, with bowed 
heads and trembling voices, said: “We yield. You are mighty 
in necromancy and we are poor and weak. Our children shall go 
to the Iron Khiva.” 

[29] 





The Book of the American Indian 


Then the war chief gave them his hand and smiled, and said: 
“I do not make war with pleasure. I am glad you have submitted 
to the commands of my great chief. Live in peace!” 


il 


For two years the children went almost daily to the Iron Khiva, 
and they came to love one of those who taught them—a white 
woman with a gentle face—but the man in the black coat who told 
the children that the religion of their fathers was wicked and 
foolish—him they hated and bitterly despised. He was sour-faced 
and fearful of voice. He shouted so loud the children were scared— 
they had no breath to make reply when he addressed them. 

But to even this creature they became accustomed, and the life 
of the village was not greatly disturbed. True, the children began 
to speak in a strange tongue and fell into foolish songs which did 
little harm—they were, in fact, amusing, and, besides, when the 
cattlemen came by and wished to buy baskets and blankets, these 
skilled children could speak their barbarous tongue—and once young 
Kopeli took his son who had mastered this hissing language, and 
went afar to trade, and brought back many things of value. He had 
been to the home of the Little Father, and the fort. 

In short the Pueblans were getting reconciled to the Iron Khiva 
and the white people, and several years went by so peacefully, with 
so little change in their life and thought, that only the most far- 
seeing expressed fear of coming trouble—but one night the children 
came home in a panic—breathless and storming with excitement. 

A stranger had arrived at the Iron House, accompanied by a tall 
old man who claimed authority over them—the man who lived in 
the big white man’s town—and they had said to the teacher, ‘‘ we 
want six children to take away with us into the East.” 

This was incredible to the people of the cliff, and they answered: 
“You were mistaken, you did not understand. They would not 
come to tear our children from our arms.” 


[30] 








A Cow-puncher Visiting an 
Indian Village 


Far in advance of settlers, in those early days when every 
man had to fight for his right of way, the American cow- 
puncher used to journey along the waste hundreds of miles 
of the then far Western country. Like a true soldier of 
fortune, he adventured with bold carelessness, ever ready 
for war, but not love; for in the Indian villages he visited 
there was no woman that such a man as he was could take 
to his heart. 
Illustration from 


THE EVOLUTION OF THE COW-PUNCHER 
by Owen Wister 


Originally published in 
HARPER’S MaGazine, September, 1895 














































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































An Apache Indian 


In the eighties the habitat of the Apaches was in the 
Sierra Madre Mountains in Arizona. When pursued the 
Apaches always took to the mountains. They were hide- 
ously cruel. The settlers entertained a perfect dread of 
these marauding bands, whose onslaughts were so sudden 
that they were never seen. When they struck, all that 
would be seen was the flash of the rifle, resting with secure 
aim over a pile of stones or a bowlder, behind which was 
the red-handed murderer. 


Illustration from 
SOME INDIAN RIDERS 
by Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A. 


Originally published in 
Harprr’s Magazine, May, 1891 











The Iron Khiva 


But the little ones were shivering with fear and would not go 
back to the plain. They moaned and wept all night—and at sunrise 
the old men went down to the Iron House, and said: 

“Our little ones came home last night, crying. They said you 
had threatened to carry them away into the East; what does this 
mean?” 

Then the strange men said, “This is true. We want six of 
your children to take away to school. We will not hurt them. 
They will live in a big house, they will have warm clothing, they 
will want for nothing. We are your friends. We want to teach 
your children the ways of the white man.” 

Passionately the grandsires responded. ‘“‘We do not want to 
hear of these things. Our children are happy here, their hearts 
will break if you take them away. We will not submit to this. We 
will fight and die together.” 

Then the old white man who had been speaking became furious. 
His voice was sharp and fierce. “If you don’t give up the children 
I will take them. You are all fools—your religion is wicked, and 
you are not fit to teach your children. My religion, my God, is the 
only God that is true and righteous, and I will take your children 
in order that you may be taught the true path and become as white 
men.” 

Then the old men withdrew hurriedly, their lips set in a grim 
line. Their return—their report, froze every heart. It was true 
then—these merciless men of the East were planning to carry their 
children into captivity. Swiftly the word passed, the goats were 
driven into their corrals, the water bags were filled, the storehouses 
were replenished. ‘‘We will not go down to the plain. Our children 
shall go no more to the Iron House. If they take them, it will be 
when all our warriors are dead.” 

So it was that when the agent and the missionaries climbed the 
mesa path they came upon a barricade of rocks, and men with 
bows and war clubs grimly standing guard. They made little talk— 

[31] 








The Book of the American Indian 





they merely said, “Go your ways, white men, and leave us alone. 
Go look to your own sons and daughters, and we will take care 
of ours. The world is wide to the East, go back to it.” 

The agent said, “If you do not send your children down to 
school I will call my warriors, and I will kill every man with a 
war club in his hand.” 

To this young Kopeli, the war chief, said: “‘We will die in de- 
fense of our home and our children. We were willing that our 
children should go down to the Iron Khiva—till now—now when 
you threaten to steal them and carry them afar into captivity 
where we can never see them again, we rebel. We will fight! Of 
what value is life without our children? Your great war chief will 
not ask this hard thing of us. If he does then he has our answer.” 

Then with dark faces the white men went away and sent a 
messenger across the desert, and three days later the sentinels of 
the highest roof saw the bluecoat warriors coming again. Raising 
a wild song, the war song of the clan, the cliff people hastily re- 
newed their defenses. They pried great rocks from the ledges, and 
set them where they could be toppled on the heads of the invaders. 
They built the barricades higher. They burnished their arrows 
and ground their sickles. Every man and boy stood ready to fight 
and die in defense of their right to life, and liberty, and their rocky 
home. 


IV 


ONcE again the timid prevailed; they said: “‘See this terrible 
white man, his weapons are most murderous. He can sit where he 
is, in safety, and send his missiles against our unprotected babes. 
He is too great. Let us make our peace with him.” 

So at last, for a third time, the elders went down to talk with the 
conquerors, and said, ““What can we do to make our peace with you?” 

Then the tall, old man said, “If you will give us two of your 
brightest sons to go away into the East we will ask no more, but 


[32] 


The Iron Khiva 


your other children must return to the Iron House each day as 
before.” 

The elders withdrew, and the news flew about the pueblo, and 
every mother looked at her handsomest son in sudden terror, and 
the men assembled in furious debate. The war party cried out with 
great bitterness of clamor, “‘Let us fight and die! We are tired 
of being chased like wolves.” But at last up rose old Hozro, and 
said, ““I have a son—you know him. He is a good son, and he has 
quick feet and a ready tongue. He is not a brawler. He is beloved 
of his teachers. Now, in order that we may be left in peace, I will 
give my son.” 

His short and passionate speech was received with expressions 
of astonishment as well as approval, for the boy Lelo was a model 
youth—and Hozro a proud father. ‘“‘What will the mother say?” 
thought all the men who sat in the council. 

Then gray old Supela, chief priest and sage, rose slowly, and 
said, “I have no son—but my son’s son I have. Him I will dedi- 
cate, though he is a part of my heart. I will cut him away because 
I love peace and hate war. Because if the white man rages against 
us he will slaughter everybody.” 

While yet they were in discussion some listening boys crept 
away and scattered the word among the women and children. 
*‘Lelo and Sakoni are to be bound and cast among the white 
men.” 

There was wailing in the houses as though a plague had smitten 
them again—and the mothers of the lads made passionate protesta- 
tions against the sacrifice of their sons—all to no purpose. The 
war chief came to tell them to make ready. “In the morning we 
must take the lads to their captors.” 

But when morning came they could not be found in their ac- 
customed places, they had fled upon the desert to the West. Then, 
while the best trailers searched for their footprints, the fathers of 
the tribe went down and told the white chief. He said: 

[33] 





The Book of the American Indian 





**T do not believe it, you are deceiving me.” 

““Come and see,” said Hozro, and led the way round the mesa 
to the point where the trailers were slowly tracing the course of the 
fugitives. 

“They are running,” said young Klee. ‘‘They are badly scared.” 

**Perhaps they go to Oraibi,” said one of the priests. 

‘We have sent runners to all the villages. No, they are heading 
for the great desert.” 

They followed them out beyond all hope of water—out into the 
desolate sand—where the sun flamed like a flood of fire and only 
the sparse skunk-weed grew—and at last sharp eyes detected two 
dark flecks on the side of a dune of yellow sand. 

“There they are!” cried Klee, the trailer. 

The stern old white man spurred his horse—the soldier chief 
did the same—but Klee outran them all. He topped the sand dune 
at a swift trot, but there halted and stood immovably gazing 
downward. 

At last he came slowly down the slope and, meeting the white 
man, the agent, and the soldier, he said, with a sullen, accusing face, 
and with bitter scorn: 

“There they are; go get them; my work is done!” 

With wonder in their looks the pursuers rode to the top of the 
hill and stood for a moment looking; then the lean hand of old Hozro 
lifted and pointed to a little hollow. “There they le—exhausted!” 

But Klee turned and said, “They are not sleeping—they are 
dead! I feel it.” 

With a sudden hoarse cry the father plunged down the hill and 
fell above the body of his son. 

When the white men came to him they perceived that the bodies 
of the boys lay in the dark stain of their own blood as in a blanket. 
They were dead, slain by their own hands. 

Then old Hozro rose and said, “White man, this is your work. 
Go back to your home. Is not your thirst slaked? Drink up the 

[34] 


The Iron Khiva 


blood of my son and go back to the white wolves who sent you. 
Leave us with our dead!” 

In silence, with faces ashamed and heads hanging, the war 
chief and stern old white man rode back to their camp, leaving the 
heroic father and grandsire alone in the desert. 

That night the great mesa was a hill of song, a place of lamenta- 
tion. Hozro and Supela were like men stunned by a sudden blow. 
The old grandsire wept till his cry became a moan, but Hozro, as 
the greatness of his loss came to him, grew violent. 

Mounting his horse, he rode fiercely up and down the streets. 
‘Now, will you fight, cowards, prairie dogs? Send word to all the 
villages—assemble our warriors—no more talk now; let us battle!” 

But when the morning came, behold the tents of the white 
soldiers were taken down, and when the elders went forth to parley, 
the soldier chief said: 

*“You need not send your children away. If they come down 
here to the Iron House that is enough. J am a just man; I will not 
fight you to take your children away. I go to see the Great Father 
and to plead against this man and his ways.” 

**And so our sons died not in vain,” said Supela to Hozro, as 
they met on the mesa top. 

‘Aye, but they are dead!” said Hozro, fiercely. “‘The going of 
the white man will not bring them back.” 

And the stricken mothers sat with haggard faces and unseeing 
eyes; they took no comfort in the knowledge that the implacable 
white man had fled with the blue-coated warriors. 


[35] 









NON oe Rien 
Fie ook 






ey, oa 














THE NEW MEDICINE 
HOUSE 





THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE 


HE spring had been cold and wet, and pneumonia was com- 
mon throughout the reservation on the Rosebud, and yet the 


trained nurse whom the government had sent out to preside 
over the little school hospital had little to do. 

She was a grimly conscientious person, but not lovable. Men 
had not considered her in their home plans, and a tragic melan- 
choly darkened her thin, plain visage, and loneliness added some- 
thing hard and repellent to her devotional nature. She considered 
herself a martyr, one carried to far countries for the love of the 
gentle Galilean. She never complained vocably, but her stooping 
walk, her downcast eyes, and her oft-bitten lips revealed her dis- 
content with great clearness to the red people, who interpret such 
signs by instinct. 

“Why does she come here?” asked reflective old Tah-You, the 
sage of the camp on the Rosebud. 

“She comes to do you good, to give your children medicine 
when they are sick,” replied the subagent, speaking in signs. 

“She is not happy. Send her away. We do not need her. I am 
medicine giver.” 

“TI can’t do that. Washington sent her. She must stay. She 
looks unhappy, but she is quite content. When your children are 
sick you should send them to her.” 

To this Tah-You made slow answer. “‘For many generations we 
have taken care of our own sick in our own way,” said he. “I do 
not think Washington should require us to give up all our ways. 
You tell Washington that we are able to care for our sick.” 

It was only later that the agent found that the little hospital, 
the pride of his eyes, had been tabooed among the tribe from the 

[39] 


4 








The Book of the American Indian 





very start. On the surface this did not appear. The children 
marched over, two and two, each morning, and took their preven- 
tion medicine with laughter, for it had a sweet taste, and the daily 
march was a ceremony. Their teacher took occasion to show them 
the clean white walls and the wide soft beds, and told them to tell 
their parents that this beautiful little house was for any one who was 
sick. 

To this they all listened with that patient docility which is 
their most marked characteristic, and some of the old men came and 
looked at the “‘medicine house”’ and spoke with the “medicine 
woman,” and while they did not show enthusiasm, they were not 
openly opposed. 

All this gave way to a hidden, determined aversion after one 
of the employees had died in the place. The nurse, being sheathed 
in the boiler iron of her own superstitions, could not understand 
the change in the attitude of the red people. It was not her busi- 
ness to give way to or even to take into account their own feelings. 
If they were sick she insisted that the superintendent hale them 
forthwith to her rooms and bind them on her beds of painful neat- 
ness. The opposition of the old people she would put down with the 
bayonet if necessary. 

A group of the old men came to the agent and said: “Friend, 
a white man has died in the medicine house. That is bad. Among 
us we do not let any one use the lodge in which one has died—we 
burn it and all that is connected with the dead one. There is 
something evil which comes from the clothing of one who is dead 
of a disease. We do not wish our children to enter this medicine 
house.” 

‘Furthermore,’ said Tah-You, “there are many bottles standing 
about in the house, and they stink very strong—they make us sick 
even when we go in for a few moments. It is not good for our 
children to sleep there when they are ill. 

*“More than this,” continued Tah-You, prompted by another, 

[40] 


The New Medicine House 


“the medicine woman drinks whisky in the night, and our children 
ought not to see that their medicine woman is a drunkard.” 

Slowly and painfully Mr. Williams explained that all the bed- 
clothes were purified and the room made clean after a person died 
in it. Also that the smell of the bottles was not harmful. As 
to the medicine woman and her drinking, they were mistaken. 
She was taking some drink for her cough. 

“We do not believe in keeping a house for people to die in,” 
repeated Tah-You. “Spirits and things evil hover round such a 
place. They cry in the night and make a sick child worse. They 
are very lonely. It is better that they come back to the tepee 
when they are ill. The children are now frightened, and we want 
you to promise that when any of them fall sick you will not send 
them to this lonesome house which is death-tainted.” 

The face of the agent hardened. To this end he knew the talk 
would come. “Listen, friends. Washington is educating your 
children. He is feeding them. He has sent also a medicine man 
and a medicine woman to take care of you when you are ill. I 
have built a nice clean house for you to be sick in. When your 
children are sick they must go there. I will not consent to their 
returning to the tepee.”’ 

This was the usual and unavoidable end of every talk. Every 
wish of the red man was necessarily thwarted—for that is mani- 
festly the way to civilize them. They rose silently, sadly, with the 
patient resignation to which they had schooled themselves, and 
passed out, leaving the agent with a sneaking, heart-burning sense 
of being woefully in the wrong. 

In the weeks that followed, the smug little hospital stood empty, 
for no sick one from the camp would so much as look toward its 
glass-paneled door. The children no longer laughed as they lined 
up for their physic. The nurse sat and read by the window, with 
no duties but those of caring for her own bed. She had the pro- 
fessed sympathy of all those who have keen noses for the super- 


[41] 


The Book of the American Indian 





stitions of other people, but none whatever for their own. She 
thought “the government should force these Indians to come in 
and be treated.” 

And as for Tah-You, these people of a creed were agreed that 
he was the meanest Indian in the tribe, and it was his influence 
which stood in the way of the medicine woman’s curative courses, 
and interfered with the plan to convert them into Christian citizens. 
“The power of these medicine men must be broken,” said the 
Rev. Alonzo Jones. 

Once in a while a child was made to stay overnight in the dread, 
sleek little rooms of the hospital, but each one escaped at the earliest 
moment. In one case, when the sick one chanced to be an orphan, 
she was made a shining decoy and coddled and fed on dainties fit 
for a daughter of millions, in order that her enthusiastic report 
of the currant jelly and chicken broth might soften the hearts of 
her companions toward the hard-glazed walls and echoing corridors 
of the little prison house. But it did not. She told of the smells, 
of the awful silence and loneliness, of the sour-faced nurse who did 
many most mysterious things in the deep of the night, and the 
other girls shuddered and laughed nervously and said, ““When we 
are sick we will run away and go to camp.” The opposition 
deepened and widened. 7 

The struggle came when Robert, the first sergeant of the school, 
the captain of the baseball team, fell sick. He was a handsome, 
steady, good-humored boy of twenty, of fine physical development, 
and a good scholar. He spoke English readily and colloquially, and 
was a cheering example of what a reservation school can turn out. 
The superintendent trusted him implicitly, and found him indis- 
pensable in the government of the school and the management of 
the farm and garden, and the agent often invited him to his house 
to meet visitors. 

Robert, after ploughing all one cold, rainy afternoon, took a 
griping chill and developed a cough which troubled him for some 

[42] 





At an Apache Indian Agency 


This incident occurred in the days of the so-called “‘ Indian 
Ring,” when the Interior Department used to appoint as 
Indian agents men whose sole object was to enrich them- 
selves by stealing the property of their savage wards. As 
a result of their reckless operations there was constant 
friction between these agents and the men of the army. 


2 Illustration from 
Lt NATCHEZ’S PASS 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Harper’s Maaazinp, February, 1901 











The Adventure of Old Sun’s Wife 


When a mere maid, the chief of the Gros Ventres Indians 
kidnaped her and, binding her securely to himself, rode 
off for his own village. When within sight of their destina- 
tion the girl stabbed him, killing him. This feat not only 
won her the right to wear three eagle feathers, but Old Sun, 
the richand powerful chief of the North Blackfeet Indians 
of Canada, made her his wife. 
Illustration from 


CHARTERING A NATION 
by Julian Ralph 


Originally published in 
Harper’s MaGazine, December, 1891 








The New Medicine House 


days. He said nothing about it, and kept on with his work when 
he should have been in bed, for he dreaded the hospital, and was 
careful to minimize all his bad symptoms, but one morning he 
found himself unable to rise, and the doctor pronounced him a 
very sick boy—* Another case of pneumonia,” said he. 

Robert was silent as they moved him across the road into the 
men’s ward of the little hospital; but his eyes, bright with fever, 
seemed to plead for something, and when the agent bent down to 
ask him if he wanted anything, the boy whispered, “Stay with me.” 

“All right, Robert, [ll watch with you to-night. I must go 
now, but I’ll come back at noon.” 

It was a long day for the sick boy, who watched and listened, 
giving little heed to the nurse who was tirelessly active in minis- 
tering to his needs. He knew just what was going on each minute. 
He listened for the assembly bell at seven o’clock. He could see the 
boys in their uniforms lining up in the halls. Now they were 
marching to chapel. They were singing the first song—he could 
hear them. Now they were listening to the little talk of the super- 
intendent—and all was quiet. 

At last they went whooping to their games in the play hour just 
before bedtime, and it seemed hard to lie there and hear them and 
be alone and forgotten. ‘‘The teachers will come to see me,” he 
thought, “‘and some of the boys.”” But they did not come. It began 
to grow dark at last, and the taciturn nurse lit a smoking lamp 
and sat down to read. When she asked him a question it sounded 
like the snarl of a cat, but her hands were tender and deft. Oh, it 
was hard to be sick and lie still so long! 

When the agent came in the boy said: “‘Major, tell my mother. 
Let her come. Tell her I’m very sick, Major!” 

“All right, Robert. I'll take the first opportunity to send her 
word. But she’s a long way off, you know. I hear she went to 
Tah-You’s old camp. But I will watch with you, my boy. Go to 
sleep and rest.” 


[43] 


The Book of the American Indian 





The boy grew very much worse in the night, and in his tempo- 
rary delirium he called piteously for his mother and in his native 
tongue, and the agent told one of the policemen to carry word to 
the mother, “Pawnee Woman,” that her son was sick. “‘Say to her 
that we are doing all we can for him, and that he is in no danger,” 
he added. 

That day was a long day to Robert, a day that was filled with 
moments of delirium as a June day is filled with cloud shadows. 
Each hour carried him farther from the white man’s religion and 
the white man’s medicine—only his good agent comforted him; 
to him he clung with ever-weakening fingers. The agency doctor, 
earnest to the limits of his powers (you can’t buy great learning 
at eight hundred dollars per year), drew the agent aside and said: 
“The boy is in for a siege, Major. His temperature is rising in 
spite of everything. He must be watched closely to-night.” 

“Tl look out for that,” said Williams. Weary as he was, he 
watched again the second night, for the boy would not let him go, 
and his heart was very tender toward him. 

The next morning as he sat in his little office he heard the 
swift soft thud of moccasined feet in the hall, and a timid knock. 
““Come!”’ he shouted, and before he could turn, a Cheyenne woman 
ran swiftly in. Her comely face was set in tragic lines of grief, 
and sobbing convulsively, while the tears flooded her cheeks. She 
laid one hand upon the agent’s shoulder, and with the other she 
signed: “‘Father, my son is going to die. Your work and your 
lodge have killed him. Have pity!” As she signed she wailed 
heart-brokenly, “‘He will die.” 

“Dry your tears,” he replied, ‘“‘He is not going to die. Two 
nights I have watched with him. I have myself given him strong 
medicine. He is better.” 

She moaned as if all hope were gone. ‘No, no. He is very sick, 
father. He does not know me. His eyes are like those of a dead 
boy. Oh, have pity! Come with me. Come and aid him.” 

[44] 


The New Medicine House 


To comfort her the weary man went back to the hospital, and 
as they entered, the mother made a wild gesture of repulsion, and 
said to the nurse: “‘Goaway, dog woman! You are killing my son.” 

In vain Williams tried to tell her how faithful the nurse had 
been. She would not listen. 

**Father, let me take my son to the lodge. Then he will get well.” 

He shook his head. “No, that would not do. He would die on 
the way. Let him stay here till he is better. You and I will watch 
over him here. No harm will come then. See how nice and clean 
his bed is, how sheltered his room is. It will be cold and windy 
in camp; he will be made worse. Let him remain till he is able to 
stand. Then it will be safe to take him away.” 

By putting forth all his powers of persuasion he comforted and 
reassured the distracted mother, and she sat down in the hospital; 
but an understanding that she wanted to have Tah-You the medi- 
cine man visit the boy and breathe upon him, and sing to him 
ran round the school and the agency, and the missionaries and the 
nurse were furious. 

“The idea of that nasty old heathen coming into the hospital!” 
said the nurse to one of the teachers. “If he comes, I leave— 
that’s all!” 

The doctor laughed. “The old cuss might do him good. Who 
knows?” 

The Reverend Jones pleaded with Williams: “Don’t permit 
it. It will corrupt the whole school. Deep in their hearts they all 
believe in the old medicine man, and if you give in to them it will 
set them all back ten years. Don’t let them take Robert to camp 
on any plea. All they want to do is to smoke and make gibberish 
over him.” 

To these impassioned appeals Williams could only say: “TI can’t 
order them not to do so. They are free citizens under our present 
law, and I have no absolute control over them. If they insist on 
taking Robert to camp, I can’t stop them.” | 

[45] 








The Book of the American Indian 





Mr. Jones went away with a bitter determination to make some 
kind of complaint against somebody, to something—he couldn’t 
quite make up his mind to whom. 

Then old Tah-You came, very grave and very gentle, and said: 
‘““Father, the Great Spirit in the beginning made both the white man 
and the red man. Once I thought we could not be friends and live 
on the same soil. I am old now and wise in things I once knew 
nothing of. I now see that the white man knows many good things 
-—and I know also that the red man is mistaken about many other 
things. Therefore we should lay our medicines side by side, and — 
when we have chosen the better, throw the worthless one away. I 
have come to put my curative charms and my lotions beside those 
of the white medicine man. I will learn of him, he will learn of 
me. This sick boy is my grandson. He is very ill. I ask you to 
let me go in to him, and look upon him, and smoke the sacred pipe, 
and breathe upon him, and heal him with strong decoction of roots.” 

To this Williams replied: ‘“'Tah-You, what you ask I cannot 
grant. This medicine house was built for the white man’s doctor 
by people who do not believe as you do. Those who gave the money 
would be very angry at me if I let you enter the door.” 

The old man’s face fell and his lips worked as he watched the 
signs made by the white chief. 

**So be it,”’ he replied as he rose. ‘“The white man’s heart is 
hard. His eyes are the eyes of a wolf. He gives only in his own 
way. He makes all men walk in his own road. He will kill my 
son and laugh.” 

Williams rose also. ‘‘Do not harden your heart to me, friend. 
I know that much of your medicine is good. I do not say you shall 
not treat the boy. To-morrow, if he is no better, you can take him 
to camp. I cannot prevent that, but if you do and he dies I am 
not to blame.” 

The old man’s face grew tender. “I see now that you are our 


friend. I am content.”’ 
[46] 





The New Medicine House 





The Reverend Mr. Jones came down upon the agent again, and 
the nurse and the teachers (though they dared say nothing) looked 
bitter displeasure. It seemed that the props on which their sky 
rested, were tottering, but Williams calmly said: ‘‘To have the boy 
die in hospital would do us a great deal more harm than to have 
him treated by Tah-You. Were you ever young? Don’t you 
remember what it meant to have your old grandmother come and 
give you boneset tea and sit by your bed? Robert is like any 
other boy; he longs for his old grandfather, and would be quieted 
and rested by a return to the tepee. I will not sacrifice the boy 
for the sake of your mission. I won’t take any such responsibility.” 

**1It will kill him to be moved,” said the nurse. 

*T’m not so sure of that. Anyhow and finally, these people, 
under the present ruling of the department, are citizens, and I have 
no authority to make them do this or that. I have given my consent 
to their plan—and that ends the matter.” 

Early the next morning the father and mother, together with 
the grandmother, tenderly folded Robert in a blanket and took him 
away to camp, and all day the missionaries could hear the sound 
of the medicine man’s rattle, and his low chant as he strove to 
drive out the evil influences, and some of them were exceedingly 
bitter, and the chief of the big medicine house was very sad, for it 
seemed that his work was being undone. 

Now it happened that Tah-You’s camp stood in the bend of the 
deep little river, and the tepees were based in sweet-smelling grasses, 
and when the sick boy opened his eyes after his swoon, he caught 
the flicker of leaf shadows on the yellowed conical walls of his 
mother’s lodge, and heard the mocking-bird’s song in the oaks. 
The kind, wrinkled face of his grandfather, the medicine man, bent 
over him, and the loving hands of his mother were on his neck. 
He was at home again! His heart gave a throb of joy, and then his 
eyes closed, a sweet langour crept over him, an utter content, 
and he fell asleep with the humming song of Tah-You carrying 

[47] 





The Rook of ihe an Indian | 





him ever farther from the world of the white man’s worry and 
unrest. 

The following day, as Williams lifted the door flap and entered, 
Tah-You sat contentedly smoking. The mother, who was sewing 
on a moccasin, looked up with a happy smile on her face and said, 
**He is almost well, my son.” 

*“T am glad,” said Williams. 

Tah-You blew a whiff from his pipe and said, with a spark of 
deep-seated humor in his glance: 

“The white men are very clever, but there are some things which 
they do not know. You—you are half red man; that accounts for 
your good heart. You see my medicine is very strong.” 

Williams laughed and turned toward the boy who lay looking 
out at the dear world with big, unwavering eyes. ‘Robert, how 
are you?” 

Slowly the boys lips shaped the whispered word, “Better.” 

“There is no place like home and mother when yow’re sick, 
Robert. Hurry up and get well. I need you.” 

As Williams was going, the mother rose and took his hand and 
cried out, poignantly: ““You are good. You let me have my son. 
You have saved him from the cruel-hearted medicine woman. Do 
not let her make evil medicine upon us.” 

“*T will not let any one hurt him. Be at peace.” 

Then the mother’s face shone with a wonderful smile. She stood 
in silence with heaving breast as her white chieftain went out. 
“He is good,”’ she said. “He is our brother.” 

To this, serene old Tah-You nodded: ‘‘He knows my medicine 
is very strong—for he is half red man.” 


[48] 


RISING WOLF—GHOST 
DANCER 





RISING WOLF—GHOST DANCER 


E sat in the shade of the lodge, smoking his pipe. His face 
H was thin, keen, and very expressive. The clear brown of 

his skin was pleasant to see, and his hair, wavy from long 
confinement in braids, was glossy as a blackbird’s wing. Around 
his neck he wore a yellow kerchief—yellow was his “medicine” 
color—and he held a soiled white robe about his loins. He was 
about fifty years of age, but seemed less than forty. 

. He studied me quizzically as I communicated to him my wish to 
hear the story of his life, and laughingly muttered some jocose 
remark to his pretty young wife, who sat near him on a blanket, busy 
at some needlework. The humorous look passed out of his face 
as he mused, the shadows lengthened on the hot, dry grass, and on 
the smooth slopes of the buttes the sun grew yellow. 

After a long pause, he lifted his head and began to speak in a 
low and pleasant voice. He used no gestures, and his glance was 
like that of one who sees a small thing on a distant hill. 

“T am well brought up,” were his first words. “‘My father was 
chief medicine man! of his tribe, and one who knew all the stories 
of his people. I was his best-loved son, and he put me into the dances 
of the warriors when I was three years old. I carried one of his war- 
bonnet feathers in my hand, and was painted like the big warriors. 

_ “When my father wished to give a horse to the Cut Throat or 

Burnt Thigh people who visited us and danced with us, he put into 
my hands the little stick which counted for a horse, and I walked 
across the circle by his side and handed the stick to our friend. 
Then my mother was proud of me, and I was glad to see her smile. 

“My father made me the best bows, and my mother made pretty 


1In Indian use the word “medicine” should be understood to mean magic power. A medicine 
man may heal the sick, but a healer is not necessarily a medicine man. A medicine man is a seer, 
a yogi. 
[51] 


The Book of the American Indian 


moccasins for me, covered with bright beads and the stained quills 
of the porcupine. I had ponies to ride, and a little tepee of my own 
in which to play I was chief. 

“When I was a little older I loved well to sit near my father and 
the old men and hear them tell stories of the days that were gone. 
My father’s stories were to me the best of all, and the motions of his 
hands the most beautiful. I could sit all day to listen. Best of all 
I liked the stories of magic deeds. 

““One day my father saw me holding my ear to the talk, and at 
night he said to me, ‘My son, I see you are to be a medicine man. 
You are not to be a warrior. When you are older, I will teach you 
the secrets of my walk, and you shall follow in my path.’ 

“Thereafter I watched everything the medicine men did. I 
crept near, and listened to their words. I followed them with my 
eyes when they went aside to pray. Where magic was being done— 
there was I. At the dance I saw my father fling live squirrels from 
his empty hand. I saw him breathe smoke upon the body of a dead 
bird, and it awoke and ran to a wounded man and tore out the 
rotting flesh and cured him. I saw a mouse come to life in the same 
way. I saw the magic bladder move when no one touched it; and I 
saw a man buried and covered with a big stone too great for four 
men to lift, and I saw him come forth as if the stone were a blanket. 

““I saw there were many ways to become a medicine man. One 
man went away on a high mountain, and there stood and cried 
all the day and all the night, saying: 


“*O Great Spirit! 
I am a poor man. 
I want to be wise. 
I want to be big medicine man. 
Help me, Great Spirit! 
I want to be honored among my people. 
Help me get blankets, horses. 
Help me raise my children. 
Help me live long, 
Honored of my people.’ 


[52] 


I rec enn tnescioreeaeoinpsimeioncngenntnaiapseniasiauegeasrasicoreenecmreismnnsseresapaginanaaemsummnesacarsaamarch 


Rising Wolf—Ghost Dancer 


**So he chanted many hours, without food or water, and it was 
cold also. At last he fell down in a sleep and dreamed. When he 
came home, he had medicine. A big bird had told him many secrets. 

**Another went into a sweat house to purify himself. He stayed 
all night inside, crying to the Great Spirit. He, too, dreamed, but 
he did not tell his dreams. 

“A third man went into his tepee on a hill near the camp, and 
there, with nothing to eat or drink, sat crying like the other two, 
and at last he slept, and in the night voices that were not of his 
mouth came in the tepee, and I, who listened unobserved, was 
afraid, and his women were afraid also. He soon became a great 
medicine man; and I went to my father, and I said: 

***Make me a medicine man like Spotted Elk.’ 

“He looked upon me and said: 

““*My son, you are too young.’ 

“‘Nevertheless I insisted, and he promised that, when I became 
sixteen years of age, he would help me to become like Spotted Elk. 
This pleased me. 

**As I grew older I put away in my memory all the stories my 
father knew of our people. I listened always when the old men 
talked. I watched the medicine men as they smoked to the Great 
Spirits of the world. I crept near, and heard them cry to the Great 
Spirit overhead and to the Dark One who lives below the earth. 
I listened all the time, and by listening I grew wise as an old man. 

“I knew all the wonderful stories of the coyote and of the 
rattlesnake. I knew what the eagle said to his mate, and I knew 
the power of the great bear who sits erect like a man. I was a hunter, 
but I followed the game to learn its ways. In those days we were 
buffalo eaters. We did not eat fish, nor fowl, nor rabbits, nor the 
meat of bear. Our women pounded wild cherries and made cakes of 
them, and of that we ate sometimes, but always we lived upon buffalo 
meat, and we were well and strong, not as we are now. 

“TJ learned to make my own bows and also to make moccasins, 


[53] 











The Book of the American Indian 


though that was women’s work, and I did not sew beads or paint 
porcupine quills. I wanted to know all things—to tan hides, to 
draw pictures—all things. 

‘**By and by time came when I was to become a medicine man. 
My father took me to Spotted Elk, the greatest of all medicine 
men, he that could make birds from lumps of meat and mice from 
acorns. 

“To him my father said: ‘My son wishes to be great medicine 
man. Because you are old and wise I bring him to you. Help me 
to give him wisdom.’ 

“Then they took me to a tepee on a hill far from the camp, and 
there they sat down with me and sang the old, old songs of our tribe. 
They took food, and offered it to the Great Spirits who lived in the 
six directions, beginning at the southeast. Then they smoked, 
always beginning at the southeast. This they taught me to do, 
and to chant a prayer to each. Then they closed the tepee, and left 
me alone. 

* All night. I cried to the Great Spirits: 

“Hear me—oh, hear me! 
You are close beside me. 
You are here in the tepee. 
Hear me, for I am poor and weak. 
I wish to be great medicine man. 
I need horses, blankets. I am a boy. 


I wish to be great and rich. 
Hear me—oh, hear me!’ 


** All night, all next day I cried. I grew hungry and cold by and 
by. I fell asleep; then came to me in my sleep a fox, and he opened 
his mouth, and talked to me. He told me to put weasel skin full 
of medicine, and wear fox skin on my head, and that would make 
me big medicine. Then he went away, and I woke up. 

“I was very hungry, and I opened the tepee and came out, and 
it was sunrise. My father was sleeping on the ground, and when 
I touched him, he woke quickly and said: 

[54] 











ignal 


Man’s Si 


icine 


The Med 


Illustration from 


THE SIOUX OUTBREAK IN SOUTH DAKOTA 


ton 


ming 


by Frederic Re 


Originally published in 
Harper’s WEEKLY, January 24, 1891 


ai 


AL 


The Ghost Dance by the Ogallala Sioux 
at Pine Ridge Agency, Dakota, 
December, 1890 


Illustration from 
THE NEW INDIAN MESSIAH 
by Lieutenant Marion P. Maus, U.S.A. 





Originally published in 
HARPER’s WEEKLY, December 6, 1890 











Rising Wolf—Ghost Dancer 


*““My son, I am glad to see you. I heard voices that were not 
yours calling in the tepee, and I was afraid.’ 

*** All is well,’ I said. ‘Give me food.’ 

When I was fed, I took my bow and arrow and went forth to 
kill a weasel. When I was alone, I sat down and prayed to the 
Great Spirits of the six world directions, and smoked, beginning 
at the southeast, and a voice came in my ear which said, “I will lead 
you. Soon I came upon a large, sleeping weasel; he was white all 
over as snow, though it was yet fall. Him I killed and skinned, and 
stretched the pelt on a flat stick to make a pouch. Then I sought 
the medicine to go in it. What that was I will not tell, but at last 
it was filled, and then I slew a big red fox, and out of his fur I made 
my cap. 

“Each night I went into my tepee alone to smoke and chant, 
and each night strange birds and animals came to me and talked 
and taught me much wisdom. Then came voices of my ancestors, 
and taught me how to cure the sick and how to charm the buffalo 
and the elk. Then I began to help my father to heal the sick people, 
and I became honored among my companions; and when I caught a 
maid on her way to the spring, she did not struggle; she was glad to 
talk with me, for I had a fine tepee and six horses and many blankets. 

“TI grew skillful. I could do many things white people never see. 
I could be buried deep in the ground, while a mighty stone which 
six men alone could lift was rolled upon me. Then in the darkness, 
when I cried to the Great Spirits, they came swiftly and put their 
hands to the stone and threw it far away, and I rose and walked 
forth, and the people wondered. I cured many people by the healing 
of my hands, and by great magic like this: I had a dried mouse, 
and once when a man came to be stiff and cold with a hole in his 
side, I said, ‘Put him before me.’ 

“When they did as I bid, I took the mouse and put it before the 
man who was dead, and I blew smoke upon the mouse and said: 


_ *Great Spirits, help me to do this great magic.’ Then the mouse 


[55] 


The Book of the American Indian 


came to life, and ran to the dead man and put his beak in the hole, 
and pulled out the bad flesh, and the wound closed up and the man 
rose. 

“These wonderful things I did, and I became rich. I had a fine, 
large tepee and many horses and skins and blankets. People said: 
‘See, there goes Rising Wolf. He is young, but he has many 
horses.’ Therefore, I came to be called ‘Many Horses’; but I had 
only one wife, Sailing Hawk. I cared only for her.” 

The chief’s handsome face had long since become grave and rapt. 
Now it suddenly grew grim. His little wife moved uneasily in her 
seat by his side, and he looked at her with a strange glance. Between 
them had crept the shadow of Sailing Hawk’s death. 

“One day while I sat with Sailing Hawk in my tepee, a big, 
black cloud came flying from the west like an eagle, and out of it 
the red fire stabbed and killed my wife and set my tepee on fire. 
My heart was like ice when I rose and saw my Sailing Hawk dead. 
I seized my gun. I fired many times into the cloud. I screamed at 
it in rage. My eyes were hot. I was crazy.—At last I went away, 
but my wife was dead, and my heart empty and like ashes. I did 
not eat for many days, and I cared no more for the Great Spirits. 
I prayed no more. I could not smoke, but I sat all night by the place 
where my Sailing Hawk lay, and no man dared come to me. My 
heart was very angry toward everybody and all things. I could 
not see the end of my trail. All was black before me. 

“My people at this time were living on their own lands. The 
big fight with ‘Long Hair’ had passed away, and we were living at 
peace once more; but the buffalo were passing also, and we feared 
and wondered. 

“Then the white man came with his soldiers, and made a corral 
here in the hot, dry country, and drove us therein, and said, ‘If 
you go outside we will shoot you.’ Soon we became poor. We had 
then no buffalo at all. We were fed poor beef, and had to wear 
white men’s clothes which did not fit. We could not go to hunt in 

[56] 








Rising Wolf—Ghost Dancer 


the mountains, and the land was waterless and very hot in summer, 
and we froze in winter. Then there were many sick, but the white 
men sent a doctor, and he laughed at me, and ordered me not to 
go near the sick ones. This made my heart black and sorrowful, 
for the white man gave strange white powders that were very bitter 
in the mouth, and the people died thereafter. 

“But many times when he had gone I {went in and made strong 
magic and cured the sick, and he thought it was his white powders. 
Nevertheless, more and more of my people came to believe in the 
white man, and so I grew very poor, and was forced to get rations 
like the rest. It was a black time for me. 

“One night there came into our midst a Snake messenger with a 
big tale. ‘Away in the west,’ he said to us in sign talk, ‘a wonderful 
man has come. He speaks all languages, and he is the friend of all 
red men. He is white, but not like other white men. He has been 
nailed to a tree by the whites. I saw the holes in his hands. He 
teaches a new dance, which is to gather all the Indians together 
in council. He wants a few head men of all tribes to meet him where 
the big mountains are, in the place where the lake is surrounded by 
pictured rocks. There he will teach, us how to make mighty magic 
and drive away the white man and bring back the buffalo.’ 

“All that he told us we pondered long, and I said: ‘It is well, 
I will go to see this man. I will learn his dance.’ 

** All this was unknown to the agent, and at last, when the time 
came, four of us set forth at night on our long journey. On the third 
day two Snake chiefs and four Burnt Thighs joined us, then four 
‘Cut Throat people, and we all journeyed in peace. At last we 
came to the lake by the pictured rocks where the three snow 
mountains are. 

“There were many Indians there. The Big Bellies were there 
from the north; and the Blackfeet, and the Magpies, and the Weav- 
ers, and the People-of-the-south-who-run-round-the-rocks, and the 
Black-people-of-the-mountains all were there. We had council, and 

[57] 





The Book of the American Indian 


we talked in signs, and we all began to ask, ‘Where is the Great 
Helper?’ A day passed, and he did not come; but one night when 
we sat in council over his teachings, he suddenly stepped inside the 
circle. He was a dark man, but not so dark as we were. He had 
long hair on his chin, and long, brown head-hair, parted in the middle. 
I looked for the wounds on his wrists; I could not see any. He moved 
like a big chief, tall and swift. He could speak all tongues. He 
spoke Dakota, and many understood. I could understand the 
language of the Cut Throat people, and this is what he said: 

“My people, before the white man came you were happy. You 
had many buffalo to eat and tall grass for your ponies. You could 
come and go like the wind. When it was cold, you could go into the 
valleys to the south, where the healing springs are; and when it grew 
warm, you could return to the mountains in the north. The white 
man came. He dug the bones of our mother, the earth. He tore her 
‘bosom with steel. He built big trails and put iron horses on them. 
He fought you and beat you, and put you in barren places where a 
horned toad would die. He said you must stay there; you must 
not hunt in the mountains. 

““Then he breathed his poison upon the buffalo, and they dis- 
appeared. They vanished into the earth. One day they covered 
the hills, the next nothing but their bones remained. Would you 
remove the white man? Would you have the buffalo come back? 
Listen, and I will tell you how to make great magic. I will teach 
you a mystic dance, and then let everybody go home and dance. 
When the grass is green, the change will come. Let everybody 
dance four days in succession, and on the fourth day the white man 
will disappear and the buffalo come back; our dead will return with 
the buffalo. ? 

“<The earth is old. It will be renewed. The new and happy 
world will slide above the old as the right hand covers the left. 

**“You have forgotten the ways of the fathers; therefore great 
distress is upon you. You must throw away all that the white man 


[58] 





Rising Wolf—Ghost Dancer 


has brought you. Return to the dress of the fathers. You must use 
the sacred colors, red and white, and the sacred grass, and in the 
spring, when the willows are green, the change will come. 

*“Do no harm to any one. Do not fight each other. Live in 
peace. Do not tell lies. When your loved ones die, do not weep, 
nor burn their tepees, nor cut your arms, nor kill horses, for you will 
see the dead again.’ 

‘“His words made my heart glad and warm in my breast. I 
thought of the bright days when I was a boy and the white man was 
far away, when the buffalo were like sagebrush on the plains—there 
were somany. I rose up. I went toward him. I bowed my head, 
and I said: 

“Oh, father, teach us the dance!’ and all the people sitting 
round said, ‘Good! teach us the dance!’ 

“Then he taught us the song and the dance which white people 
call ‘the ghost dance,’ and we danced all together, and while we danced 
near him he sat with bowed head. No one dared to speak to him. 
The firelight shone on him. Suddenly he disappeared. No one saw 
him go. Then we were sorrowful, for we wished him to remain with 
us. It came into my heart to make a talk; so I rose, and said: 

“““Friends, let us now go home. Our father has given us the 
mighty magic dance. Let us go home and teach all our people, and 
dance the four days, so that the white man may go and the buffalo 
come back. All our fathers will come back. The old men will be 
made young. The blind will see again. We will all be happy once 
more.’ 

“This seemed good to them, and we all smoked the pipe and 
shook hands and took our separate trails. The Blackfeet went 
north, the People-that-click-with-their-tongues went west, and the 
Magpies, the Cut Throats, and the Snakes started together to the 
east. The Burnt Thighs kept on, while the Magpies and the Cut 
Throats turned to the northeast. 

“At last we reached home, and I called a big dance, and at the 

[59] 





The Book of the American Indian 





dance I told the people what I had seen, and they were very glad. 
‘Teach us the dance,’ they cried to me. 

***Be patient,’ I said. ‘Wait till all the other people get home. 
When the grass is green and the moon is round, then we will dance, 
and all the red people will dance at the same time; then will the 
white man surely fade away, and the buffalo come up out of the 
earth where he is hid and roam the sod once more.” 

“Then they did as I bid, and when the moon was round as a 
shield, we beat the drum and called the people to dance. 

“Then the white man became much excited. He called for more 
soldiers everywhere to stop the dance, so I heard afterward. But 
the people paid no attention, for was not the white man poor and 
weak by the magic of the dance? 

“Then we built five fires, one to each world direction and one in 
the center. We put on our best dress. We painted our faces and bodies 
in memory of our forefathers, who were mighty warriors and hunters. 
We carried bows and arrows and tomahawk and war clubs in memory 
of the days before the white man’s weapons. Our best singers knelt 
around the drum, and the women sat near to help them sing. When the 
drum began to beat, our hearts were very glad. There were Magpies 
and Cut Throats among us, but we were all friends. We danced be- 
tween the fires, and as we danced the drummers sang the mystic song: 

“Father, have pity on us. 
We are crying for thirst— 
All is gone! 
We have nothing to eat, 
Our Father, we are poor— 
We are very poor. 
The buffalo are gone, 
They are all gone. 
Take pity on us, O Father! 
We are dancing as you wish, 
Because you commanded us. 
We dance hard— 
We dance long. 
Have pity! 

[60] 








Rising Wolf—Ghost Dancer 


“The agent came to see us dance, but we did not care. He was 
a good man, and we felt sorry for him, for he must also vanish with 
the other white people. He listened to our crying, and looked long, 
and his interpreter told him we prayed to the Great Spirits to destroy 
the white man and bring back the buffalo. Then he called me with 
his hand, and because he was a good man I went to him. He asked 
me what the dance meant, and I told him, and he said, ‘It must 
stop.’ “I cannot stop it,’ I said. ‘The Great Spirits have said it. 
It must go on.’ 

“‘He smiled, and went away, and we danced. He came again on 
the third day, and always he laughed. He said: ‘Goon. You are 
big fools. You will see the buffalo will never come back, and the 
white man is too strong to be swept away. Dance till the fourth 
day, dance hard, but I shall watch you.’ 

“On the fourth night, while we danced, soldiers came riding 
down the hills, and their chiefs, in shining white hats, came to 
watch us. All night we prayed and danced. We prayed in our 
songs. 

“Great Spirit, help us. 
You are close by in the dark. 
Hear us and help us. 
Take away the white man. 
Send back the buffalo. 
We are poor and weak. 
We can do nothing alone. 


Help us to be as we once were, 
Happy hunters of buffalo. 


“But the agent smiled, and the soldiers of the white chiefs sat 
not far off, their guns in their hands, and the moon passed by, and 
the east grew light, and we were very weary, and my heart was heavy. 
I looked to see the red come in the east. ‘When the sun looks over 
the hills, then it will be,’ I said to my friends. ‘The white man will 
become as smoke. _ The wind will sweep him away.’ 


“As the sun came near we all danced hard. My voice was 
[61] 


The Book of the American Indian 


almost gone. My feet were numb, my legs were weak, but my 
heart was big. 
*“**Oh, help us, Great Spirits,’ we cried in despair. 


‘“*“Father, the morning star, 
Father, the morning star, 
Look on us! 
Look on us, for we have danced till dawn; 
Look on us, for we have danced until daylight. 


Take pity on us, 

O Father, the morning star! 
Show us the road— 

Our eyes are dark. 


Show us our dead ones. 

We cry and hold fast to you, 

O morning star. 

We hold out our hands to you and cry. 
Help us, O Father! 

We have sung till morning 

The resounding song.’ 


“‘“But the sun came up, the soldiers fired a big gun, and the soldier 
chiefs laughed. Then the agent called to me, 

.“**Your Great Spirit can do nothing. Your Messiah lied.’ 

“Then I covered my head with my blanket and ran far away, 
and I fell down on the top of the high hill. I lay there a long time, 
thinking of the white man’s laugh. The wind whistled a sad song 
in the grass. My heart burned, and my breath came hard. 

***Maybe he was right. Maybe the messenger was two-tongued 
and deceived us that the white man might laugh at us.’ 

“All day I lay there with my head covered. I did not want to 
see the light of the sun. I heard the drum stop and the singing die 
away. Night came, and then on the hills I heard the wailing of my 
people. Their hearts were gone. Their bones were weary. 

‘*“When I rose, it was morning. I flung off my blanket, and looked 
down on the valley where the tepees of the white soldiers stood. I 


[62] 


SA A ATES LO ES ARE TT TS. TS LST, SAS SNES. 2? 


Rising Wolf—Ghost Dancer 


heard their drums and their music. I had made up my mind. The 
white man’s trail was wide and dusty by reason of many feet passing 
thereon, but it was long. The trail of my people was ended. 

“*T said, ‘I will follow the white man’s trail. I will make him my 
friend, but I will not bend my neck to his burdens. I will be cunning 
as the coyote. I will ask him to help me to understand his ways, 
and then I will prepare the way for my children. Maybe they will 
outrun the white man in his own shoes. Anyhow, there are but two 
ways. One leads to hunger and death, the other leads where the 
poor white man lives. Beyond is the happy hunting ground, where 
the white man cannot go.’”’ 





THE RIVER’S 
WARNING 





THE RIVER’S WARNING 


\ N YE were visiting the camp of Big Elk on the Washeetay 

and were lounging in the tepee of the chief himself as the 

sun went down. All about us could be heard the laughter 

of the children and the low hum of women talking over their work. 

Dogs and babies struggled together on the sod, groups of old men 

were telling stories and the savory smell of new-baked bread was 
in the air. 

The Indian is a social being and naturally dependent upon his 
fellows. He has no newspapers, no posters, no handbills. His news 
comes by word of mouth, therefore the “taciturn red man” does 
not exist. They are often superb talkers, dramatic, fluent, humorous. 
Laughter abounds in a camp. The men joke, tell stories with the 
point against themselves, ridicule those who boast and pass easily 
from the humorous to the very grave and mysterious in their 
faith. It is this loquacity, so necessary to the tribe, which makes it 
so hard for a red man to keep a secret. 

In short, a camp of Indians is not so very unlike a country village 
where nothing but the local paper is read and where gossip is the 
surest way of finding out how the world is wagging. There are in 
both villages the same group of old men with stories of the past, of 
the war time, to whom the young men listen with ill-concealed im- 
patience. When a stranger comes to town all the story tellers rejoice , 
and gird up their loins afresh. It is always therefore in the character 
of the eager listener that I visit a camp of red people. 

Big Elk was not an old man, not yet sixty, but he was a story 
teller to whom everybody listened, for he had been an adventurous 
youth, impulsive and reckless, yet generous and kindly. He was 
a handsome old fellow natively, but he wore his cheap trousers so 


[67] 





The Book of the American Indian 








slouchily and his hat was so broken that at a distance in the day- 
time he resembled a tramp. That night as he sat bareheaded in 
his tepee with his blanket drawn around his loins, he was admirable. 
His head was large, and not unlike the pictures of Ben Franklin. ; 

“You see, in those days,” he explained, “in the war time with 
the game robbers, every boy was brought up to hate the white man 
who came into our land to kill off our buffalo. We heard that these 
men killed for money like the soldiers who came to fight us, and 
that made our fathers despise them. I have heard that the white 
boys were taught to hate us in the same way, and so when we met we 
fought. The white man considered us a new kind of big game to 
hunt and we considered him a wolf paid to rob and kill us. Those 
were dark days. ) 

“TI was about twenty-two, it may be, when the old man agent 
first came to the east bank of the Canadian, and there sat down. 
My father went to see him, I remember, and came back laughing. 
He said, ‘He is a thin old man and can take his teeth out in pieces 
and put them back,’ and this amused us all very much. To this day, 
as you know, that is the sign for an agent among us—to take out 
the upper teeth. 

“We did not care for the agent at that time for we had plenty of 
buffalo meat and skins. Some of the camp went over and drew 
rations, it is true, but others did not go. I pretended to be very 
indifferent, but I was crazy to go, for I had never seen a white man’s 
house and had never stood close to any white man. I heard the 
others tell of a great many wonderful things over there—and they 
said there were white women and children also. 

I was ambitious to do a great deed in those days and had made 
myself the leader of some fourteen reckless young warriors like 
myself. I sat around and smoked in tepee, and one night I said, 
‘Brothers, let us go to the agency and steal the horses.’ 

“This made each one of them spring to his feet. ‘Good! Good!’ 
they said. ‘Lead us. We will follow. That is worth doing.’ 

[68] 


The River’s Warning 


“The white men are few and cowardly,’ I said. ‘We can dash 
in and run off the horses, and then I think the old men will no longer 
call us boys. They will sing of usin their songs. We shall be counted 
in the council thereafter.’ 

“They were all eager to go and that night we slipped out of 
camp and saddled and rode away across the prairie, which was 
fetlock deep in grass. Just the time for araid. I felt like a big chief 
as I led my band in silence through the night. My bosom swelled 
with pride like a turkey cock and my heart was fierce. 

“We came in sight of the white man’s village next day about 
noon, and veering a little to the north, I led my band into camp 
some miles above the agency. Here I made a talk to my band and 
said: ‘Now you remain here and I will go alone and spy out the 
enemy and count his warriors and make plans for the battle. You 
can rest and grow strong while I am gone.’”’ 

Big Elk’s eyes twinkled as he resumed. “I thought I was a 
brave lad to do this thing and I rode away trying to look uncon- 
cerned. I was very curious to see the agency. I was like a coyote 
who comes into the camp to spy out the meat racks.’ This remark 
caused a ripple of laughter, which Big Elk ignored. “As I forded 
the river I glanced right and left, counting the wooden tepees” 
(he made a sign of the roof), ‘“‘and I found them not so many as I’ 
had heard. As I rode up the bank I passed near a white woman 
and I looked at her with sharp eyes. I had heard that all white 
women looked white and sicklike. This I found was true. This 
woman had yellow hair and was thin and pale. She was not afraid 
of me—she did not seem to notice me and that surprised me. 

“Then I passed by a big wooden tepee which was very dirty 
and smoky. I could see a man, all over black, who was pounding at 
something. He made a sound, clank, clank, clunk-clank. I stood at 
the door and looked in. It was all very wonderful. There were 
horses in there and this black man was putting iron moccasins on 
the horses’ feet. 


[69] 


The Book of the American Indian 





*“An Arapahoe stood there and I said in signs, ‘What do they 
do that for?’ 

He replied, ‘So that the horses can go over rocks without wearing 
off their hoofs.’ 

“That seemed to me a fine thing to do and I wanted my pony 
fixed that way. I asked where the agent was, and he pointed 
toward a tall pole on which fluttered a piece of red and white and 
blue cloth. I rode that way. There were some Cheyennes at the 
door, who asked me who I was and where I came from. I told 
them any old kind of story and said, ‘Where is the agent?’ 

“They showed me a door and I went in. I had never been in a 
white man’s tepee before and I noticed that the walls were strong 
and the door had iron on it. ‘Ho!’ I said, ‘This looks like a trap. 
Easy to go in, hard to get out. I guess I will be very peaceful while 
I am in here.’ 

“The agent was a little old man—I could have broken his back 
with a club as he sat with his back toward me. He paid no attention 
till a half-breed came up to me and said, ‘What do you want?’ 

***T want to see the agent.’ 

“There he is; look at him,’ and he laughed. 

“The agent turned around and held out his hand. ‘How, how!’ 
he said. ‘What is your name?’ 

*“His face was very kind, and I went to him and took his hand. 
His tongue I could not understand, but the half-breed helped me. 
We talked. I made upastory. ‘I have heard you give away things 
to the Cheyennes,’ I said; ‘therefore I have come for my share.’ 

“**We give to good red people,’ he said. Then he talked sweetly 
to me. ‘My people are Quakers,’ he said. ‘We have visions like 
the red people—but we never go to war. Therefore has the Great 
Soldier, the Great Father at Washington, put me here. He does 
not want his children to fight. You are all brothers with different 
ways of life. Iam here to help your people,’ he said, ‘and you must 
not go to war any more.’ 


[70] 


The River’s Warning 


* All that he said to me was good—it took all the fire and bitter- 
ness out of my heart and I shook hands and went away with my head 
bowed in thought. He was as kind as my own father. 

**I had never seen such white people before; they were all kind. 
They fed me; they talked friendly with me. Not one was making a 
weapon. All were preparing to till the soil. They were kind to the 
beasts, and all the old Cheyennes I met said, ‘We must do as this 
good old man says.’ 

I rode home very slowly. I strutted no more. The stuffing was 
gone out of my chest. I dreaded to come back into my camp where 
my watriors were waiting for me. I spread my blanket and sat down 
without speaking, and though they were all curious to hear, they 
waited, for I smoked a pipe in sign of thought. At last I struck the 
ashes from my pipe and rose and said: ‘Listen, brothers I shall not 
go to war against the agency.’ 

“They were all astonishment at this and some were instantly 
angry. ‘Why not? What has changed your plan so suddenly?’ 

***T have seen the agent; he is a good old man. Every one was 
pleasant to me. I have never seen this kind of white man. No one 
was thinking of war. They are all waiting to help the Cheyennes. 
Therefore my heart is changed—I will not go out against them.’ 

“My band was in a turmoil. One by one they cried out: ‘You 
are a girl, a coyote with the heart of a sparrow.’ Crow Kill made a 
long speech: ‘This is strange business. You talk us into making 
you chief; you lead us a long hard ride and now we are without meat, 
while you, having your belly full of sweet food and a few presents 
in your hand, want to quit and run home crying like a papoose.” 

The old story teller was pitilessly dramatic in reciting the flood 
of ridicule and abuse poured out upon his head. 

“Well, at last I said: ‘Be silent! Perhaps you are right. Per- 
haps they deceived me. I will go again to-morrow and I will search 
closely into hidden things. Be patient until I have studied the 
ground once more.’ 


[71] 








The Book of the American Indian 


**As I thought of it all that night I came to feel again a great 
rage—I began to say: ‘You are a fool. You have been blinded.’ I 
slept uneasily that night, but I was awake early and rode away to 
the agency. I remained all day among them. I talked with all the 
Cheyennes and in signs I conversed with the Arapahoe—all said 
the same thing—‘The agent does not lie. He is a good man.’ Never- 
theless, I looked the ground all over and at night I rode slowly back 
to the camp. 

“Again I said, ‘I will not go to war against these people,’ and 
again my warriors cried out against me. They were angrier than 
before. They called me a coward. ‘We will go on without you. 
You are fitted only to carry a papoose and stir the meat in a pot,’ 
they said. 

“This filled me with wrath and I rose and said: ‘You call me a 
woman! Who of you can show more skill in the trail? Who of you 
can draw a stronger bow or bring down bigger buffalo bulls? It 
is time for you to be silent. You know me—you know what I have 
done. Now listen: I am chief. ‘To-morrow when the east gets light 
we will cross the river and attack the agency! I have spoken!’ 

“This pleased them very much and they listened and looked 
eagerly while I drew on the sand lines to show where the horse corral 
was and where the storehouse was. I detailed five men to go to the 
big fence and break the chain on the gate, while I led the rest of the 


band to break into the storehouse. Then I said: ‘Do not kill any — 


one unless they come out against you with arms in their hands. 
Some of them gave me food; I shall be sorry if they are hurt.’ © 
“That night I could not sleep at all, for my heart was swollen 
big in my bosom. I knew I was doing wrong, but I could not stand 
the reproach of my followers. 
“When morning came, the river was very high, and we looked 
at it in astonishment, for no clouds were to be seen. The banks 


were steep and the current swift, and there was no use attempting 


to carry out our plan that day. 


[72] 


“hs 
aa 











On an Indian Reservation 


At Fort Reno in 1890, in the then Oklahoma Territory, © 


there was an agency for the Cheyennes and Arapahoes. 
In those days one might see the Indians in their fantastic 
mixture of colors and beads and red flannel and feathers— 
£0 theatrical in appearance that the visitor expected to see 
even the army officers look back over their shoulders when 
one of these braves rode by. 


Tliustration from 
THE WEST FROM A CAR WINDOW 
by Richard Harding Davis 


Originally published in 
Harper’s WEEKLY, May 14, 1892 











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































In a Stiff Current 


Illustration from 


TALKING MUSQUASH 


by Julian Ralph 


Originally published in 
Harrer’s MaGazine, March, 1892 








The River’s Warning 


“We must wait,’ I said, and with black looks and aching bellies 
We waited all that day. ‘The river will go down to-morrow,’ I said, 
to comfort them. 

“We had only a little dried beef to eat and the river water to 
drink, and my warriors were very hungry. 

That second morning I was awake before dawn, veaenige to see 
what the river had done during the night. Behold, it was an arrow’s 
length higher than before! Then I said: “Friends, I am no liar. 
I started on this plan with a heart to carry it out, but now I am 
deeply troubled. I did not sleep last night, for a pain in my breast 
kept me awake. I will not deceive you. I am glad the water is 
deeper this morning. I believe it is a sign from the Great Spirit 
that we are to turn back and leave these white people in peace.’ 

“But to this Crow Kill and most of the others would not listen. 
“If we go back now,’ said he, ‘everybody will laugh at us.’ 

“Quickly I turned upon him and cried out: ‘Are you the boaster 
who has prattled of our plans? The camp will know nothing of our 
designs if you have not let your long tongue rattle on the outside 
of your mouth.’ At this he fell silent and I went on. ‘Now I will 
wait one more day. If the river is high to-morrow—the third 
day—then it will surely be a sign, and we must all bow to the will 
of the Great One who is above us.’ 

“To this they all agreed, for the sky was still clear and blue 
and the river was never known to rise on three successive days. 
They put their weapons in order, and I recounted my words of 
instruction as to the battle. 

“I went aside a little from the camp that night, and took my 
watch on a little mound. The moon rose big in the east and made a 
shining trail over the water. When a boy I used to think, may be 
that trail led to the land of the spirits—and my heart was full of 
peaceful thoughts that night. I had no hate of anybody.” The 
old man’s voice was now deep and grave and no one laughed. “I 
prayed to the Great Spirit to send the water so that I could go back 

[73] 








The Book of the American Indian 


without shame, All night I heard the water whisper, whisper in the 
grass. It grew broader and broader and the moon passed over my 
head. I slept a little, and then I woke, for something cold had 
touched my heel. I looked down and in the grass at my feet lay 
the shining edge of the river. 

“T leaped up and ran and touched the others. ‘See,’ I called out, 
‘the water has come to speak to you!’ and I scooped water from the 
river’s edge and flung it over them. ‘The Great Spirit has spoken. 
All night I heard it whisper in the grass. It said: “Peace, peace! 
You must go to war no more.” Come. We will ride away with clean 
hands and glad hearts.’”* 

As he finished his story Big Elk put away his pipe abstractedly, 
as though his mind yet dwelt on the past. His hearers were silent 
and very serious. He had touched the deepest chord in the red 
man’s soul—the chord which vibrates when the Great Spirit speaks 
to him in dreams. 


[74] 


LONE WOLE’S OLD 
GUARD 


Sy 





ma . 


, 





LONE WOLF’S OLD GUARD 


OW it happened that Lone Wolf’s camp was on the line 
between the land of the Cheyennes and the home of his 


own people, the Kiowas, but he did not know this. He 
had lived there long, and the white man’s maps were as unimpor- 
tant to him as they had been to the Cheyennes. When he moved 
there he considered it to be his—a gift direct from the Creator—with 
no prior rights to be overstepped. 

But the Consolidated Cattle Company, having secured the right 
to enclose a vast pasture, cared nothing for any red man’s claim, 
provided they stood in with the government. A surveying party 
was sent out to run lines for fences. 

Lone Wolf heard of these invaders while they were at work 
north of him, and learned in some mysterious way that they were 
to come down the Elk and cut through his camp. To his friend 
John, the interpreter, he sent these words: 

“The white man must not try to build a fence across my land. 
I will fight if he does. Washington is not behind this thing. He 
would not build a fence through my lines without talking with 
me. I have sent to the agent of the Kiowas, he knows nothing 
about it—it is all a plan of the cattlemen to steal my lands. Tell 
them that we have smoked over this news—we have decided. This 
fence will not be built.” 

When “Johnny Smoker” brought this stern message to the camp 
of the surveyors some of them promptly threw up their hands. 
Jim Bellows, scout and interpreter, was among these, and his 
opinion had weight, for he wore his hair long and posed as an 
Indian fighter of large experience. 

“Boys,” he began, impressively, “we got to get out o’ here as 


[77] 


The Book of the American Indian 





soon as darkness covers us. We're sixty miles from the fort, and 
only fifteen all told, and not half-armed. Old Lone Wolf holds 
over us, and we might as well quit and get help.” 

This verdict carried the camp, and the party precipitately 
returned to Darlington to confer with the managers of the company. 

Pierce, the chief man, had reasons for not calling on the military 
authorities. His lease was as yet merely a semi-private arrangement 
between the Secretary of the Interior and himself, and he feared 
the consequences of a fight with Lone Wolf—publicity, friction, 
might cause the withdrawal of his lease; therefore he called in 
John Seger, and said: 

‘Jack, can you put that line through?” 

“TI could, but I don’t want to. Lone Wolf is a good friend of 
mine, and I don’t want to be mixed up in a mean job.” 

“Oh, come now—you mustn’t show the white flag. I need you. 
I want you to pick out five or six men of grit and go along and see 
that this line is run. I can’t be fooling around here all summer. 
Here’s my lease, signed by the Secretary, as you see. It’s all 
straight, and this old fool of an Indian must move.” 

Jack reluctantly consented, and set to work to hire a half dozen 
men of whose courage he had personal knowledge. Among these 
was a man by the name of Tom Speed, a borderman of great hardi- 
hood and experience. To him he said: 

“Tom, I don’t like to go into this thing; but I’m hard up, and 
Pierce has given me the contract to build the fence if we run the 
line, and it looks like we got to do it. Now I wish you’d saddle 
up and help me stave off trouble. How does it strike you?” 

“It’s nasty business, Jack; but I reckon we might better do it 
than let some tenderfoot go in and start a killin’. I’m busted flat, 
and if the pay is good, I jest about feel obliged to take it.” 

So it happened that two avowed friends of the red man led 
this second expedition against Lone Wolf’s camp. Pierce sent his 
brother as boss, and with him went the son of one of the principal 


[78] 





Lone Wolf’s Old Guard 


owners, a Boston man, by the name of Ross. Speed always called 
him “‘the Dude,” though he dressed quite simply, as dress goes in 
Roxbury. He wore a light suit of gray wool, “low-quartered shoes,” 
and a “grape box hat.” He was armed with a pistol, which 
wouldn’t kill a turtledove at fifteen feet. Henry Pierce, on the 
contrary, was a reckless and determined man. 

Moving swiftly across the Divide, they took up the line on Elk 
Creek, and started directly toward Lone Wolf’s camp. As they 
were nearing the bend in the river where Lone Wolf was camped, a 
couple of young warriors came riding leisurely up from the south. 
They were very cordial in their greeting, and after shaking hands 
all around pleasantly inquired: 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Running a line to mark out the land which the cattlemen have 
leased of the Cheyennes.”’ 

“We will go along and see where you are going,” they 
replied. 

A couple of hours later, while they were still with the camp, 
two others came riding quietly in from the east. They said, “We 
are looking for horses,” and after shaking hands and asking Seger 
what the white men were doing, rode forward to join their com- 
panions, who seemed deeply interested in the surveyors and their 
instruments. Turning to Pierce, Jack said, 

*“You noticed that these four men were armed, I reckon?” 

“Oh, yes, but they are all right. Didn’t you see how they shook 
hands all round? They’re just out hunting up ponies.” 

“Yes, I saw that; but I noticed they had plenty of ammunition 
and that their guns were bright. Indians don’t hunt horses in 
squads, Mr. Pierce.” 

Pierce smiled, giving Seger a sidewise glance. “Are you getting 
nervous? If you are, you can drop to the rear.” 

Now Seger had lived for the larger part of his life among the 
red people, and knew their ways. He answered, quietly: 


[79] 


The Book of the American Indian 





“There are only four of them now; you'll see more of them 
soon,” and he pointed away to the north, where the heads of three 
mounted men were rising into sight over a ridge. These also proved 
to be young Kiowas, thoroughly armed, who asked the same ques- 
tion of the manager, and in conclusion pleasantly said, 

“We'll just go along and see how you do it.” 

As they rode forward Seger uttered a more pointed warning. 

“Mr. Pierce, I reckon you’d better make some better disposition 
of your men. They are all strung out here, with their guns on their 
backs, in no kind of shape to make a defense.” 

Pierce was a little impressed by the scout’s earnestness, and took 
trouble to point out the discrepancy between “‘a bunch of seven 
cowardly Indians” and his own band of twenty brave and expe- 
rienced men. | 

“That’s all right,” replied Seger; “‘but these seven men are 
only spies, sent out to see what we are going to do. We'll have 
to buckle up with Lone Wolf’s whole band very soon.” 

A few minutes later the seven young men rode quietly by and 
took a stand on a ridge a little in front of the surveyors. As he 
approached them, Seger perceived a very great change in their 
demeanor. They no longer smiled; they seemed grim, resolute, 
and much older. From a careless, laughing group of young men 
they had become soldiers—determined, disciplined, and dignified. 
Their leader, riding forth, held up his hand, and said, 

“Stop; you must wait here till Lone Wolf comes.” 

Meanwhile, in the little city of tents, a brave drama was being 
enacted. Lone Wolf, a powerful man of middle age, was sitting 
in council with his people. The long-expected had happened—the 
cattlemen had begun to mark off the red man’s land as their own, 
and the time had come either to submit or to repel the invaders. 
To submit was hard, to fight hopeless. Their world was still narrow, 
but they had a benumbing conception of the power and the remorse- 


less greed of the white man. 
[80] 


+ : 4 5 
as Pek 

ogee ae 
= a * yr 




























































































































































































i 


y 









































AIKMAN fe 





A Modern Comanche Indian 


In the ’nineties the Comanche of the Fort Sill region was 
considered a good type of the Indian of that day. Not only 
was he the most expert horse-stealer on the plains—a title 
of honor rather than reproach among Indians—but he was 
particularly noteworthy for knowing more about a horse 
and horse-breeding than any other Indian. 


Illustration from 
SOME INDIAN RIDERS 
by Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A. 


Originally published in 
Harpuir’s MaGcazine, May, 1891 





A Band of Piegan Indians in 
the Mountains 


Having made out the camp of the Crow Indians in the 
plain many miles below, the Piegans are making their way 
slowly through the mountains on foot, their object being to 
raid the Crow camp and steal their war ponies. 


Illustration from 
SUN-DOWN’S HIGHER SELF 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Harpeir’s MAGAZINE, November, 1898 





4 





Lone Wolf’s Old Guard 


“We can kill those who come,” said Lone Wolf. “They are 
few, but behind them are the soldiers and men who plough.” 

At last old White Buffalo rose—he had been a great leader in 
his day, and was still much respected, though he had laid aside 
his chieftainship. He was bent and gray and wrinkled, but his 
voice was still strong, and his eyes keen. 

*“My friends, listen to me! During seventy years of my life 
I lived without touching the hand of a white man. I have always 
opposed warfare, except when it was necessary; but now the time 
has come to fight. Let me tell you what to do. I see here some 
thirty old men, who, like me, are nearing the grave. This thing 
we will do—we old men—we will go out to war against these cattle- 
men. We will go forth and die in defense of our lands. Big Wolf, 
come—and you, my brother, Standing Bear.” 

As he called the roll of the gray old defenders, the old women 
broke into heart-piercing wailing, intermingled with exultant cries 
as some brave wife or sister caught the force of the heroic responses, 
which leaped from the lips of their fathers and husbands. A feeling 
of awe fell over the young men as they watched the fires flame 
once more in the dim eyes of their grandsires, and when all had 
spoken, Lone Wolf rose and stepped forth, and said, 

“Very well; then I will lead you.” 

“Whosoever leads us goes to certain death,” said White Buffalo. 
“It is the custom of the white men to kill the leader. You will 
fall at the first fire. I will lead.” 

Lone Wolf’s face grew stern. “Am I not your war chief? 
Whose place is it to lead? If I die, I fall in combat for my land, 
and you, my children, will preserve my name in song. We do not 
know how this will end, but it is better to end in battle than to 
have our lands cut in half beneath our feet.” | 

The bustle and preparation began at once. When all was ready 
the thirty gray and withered old men, beginning a low humming 
song, swept through the camp and started on their desperate charge, 


[81] 





The Book of the American Indian 


Lone Wolf leading them. ‘“‘Some of those who go will return, but if 
the white men fight, I will not return,” he sang, a& they began to 
climb the hill on whose top the white man could be seen awaiting 
their coming. 

Halfway up the hill they met some of the young warriors. 
**Go bring all the white men to the council,” said Lone Wolf. 

As the white men watched the band leaving the village and 
beginning to ascend the hill, Speed turned and said: “Well, Jack, 
what do you think of it? Here comes a war party—painted and 
armed.” 

“T think it’s about an even chance whether we ever cross the 
Washita again or not. Now, you are a married man with children, 
and I wouldn’t blame you if you pulled out right this minute.” 

“T feel meaner about this than anything I ever did,” replied 
Speed, “but I am going to stay with the expedition.” 

As Lone Wolf and his heroic old guard drew near, Seger thrilled 
with the significance of this strange and solemn company of old 
men in full war-paint, armed with all kinds of old-fashioned guns, 
and bows and arrows. As he looked into their wrinkled faces, the 
scout perceived that these grandsires had come resolved to die. 
He divined what had taken place in camp. Their exalted heroism 
was written in the somber droop of their lips. “‘We can die, but 
we will not retreat!” In such wise our grandsires fought. 

Lone Wolf led his Spartan host steadily on till near enough to 
be heard without effort. He then halted, took off his war-bonnet 
and hung it on the pommel of his saddle. Lifting both palms 
to the sky, he spoke, and his voice had a solemn boom in it: “The 
Great Father is looking down on us. He sees us. He knows I 
speak the truth. He gave us this land. We are the first to inhabit 
it. No one else has any claim to it. It is ours, and I will go under 
the sod before any cattlemen shall divide it and take it away from 
us. I have said it.” 

When this was interpreted to him, Pierce with a look of inquiry 


[82] 


Lone Wolf’s Old Guard 


turned to Speed. “Tell the old fool this line is going to be run, and 
no old scarecrows like these can stop us.” 

Seger, lifting his hand, signed: “‘Lone Wolf, you know me. I 
am your friend. I do not come to do you harm. I come to tell 
you you are wrong. All the land on my left hand the Great Father 
says is Cheyenne land. All on my right is Kiowa land. The Chey- 
ennes have sold the right to their land to the white man, and we are 
here to mark out the line. We take only Cheyenne land.” 

“TI do not believe it,” replied the chief. “‘My agent knows noth- 
ing of it. Washington has not written anything to me about it. 
This is the work of robbers. Cattlemen will do anything for money. 
They are wolves. They shall not go on.” 

“What does he say?” asked Pierce. 

“He says we must not go on.” 

“You tell him that he can’t run any such bluff on me with his 
old scarecrow warriors. This lines goes through.” 

Lone Wolf, tense and eager, asked, “‘ What says the white chief?” 

“He says we must run the line.”’ 

Lone Wolf turned to his guard. “You may as well get ready,” 
he said, quietly. 

The old men drew closer together with a mutter of low words, 
and each pair of dim eyes selected their man. The clicking of their 
guns was ominous, and Pierce turned white. 

Speed drew his revolver-holster round to the front. “‘They’re 
going to fight,” he said. “‘Every man get ready!” 

But Seger, eager to avoid the appalling contest, cried out to 
Pierce: 

“Don’t do that! It’s suicide to go on. These old men have 
come out to fight till death.” To Lone Wolf he signed: “Don’t 
shoot, my friend!—let us consider this matter. Put up your guns.” 

Into the hot mist of Pierce’s wrath came a realization that these 
old men were in mighty earnest. He hesitated. 

Lone Wolf saw his hesitation, and said: “If you are here by 

[83] 








The Book of the American Indian 





right, why do you not get the soldier chief to come and tell me? 
If the Great Father has ordered this—then I am like a man with 
his hands tied. The soldiers do not lie. Bring them!”’ 

Seger grasped eagerly at this declaration. “There is your chance, 
Pierce. The chief says he will submit if the soldiers come to make 
the survey. Let me tell him that you will bring an officer from 
the fort to prove that the government is behind you.” 

Pierce, now fully aware of the desperate bravery of the old men, 
was looking for a knothole of escape. “All right, fix it up with 
him,” he said. 

Seger turned to Lone Wolf. ‘“‘The chief of the surveyors says: 
‘Let us be friends. I will not run the line.’”’ 

“Ho, ho!” cried the old warriors, and their faces, grim and 
wrinkled, broke up into smiles. They laughed, they shook hands, 
while tears of joy filled their eyes. They were like men delivered 
from sentence of death. The desperate courage of their approach 
was now revealed even to Pierce. They were joyous as children over 
their sudden release from slaughter. 

Lone Wolf, approaching Seger, dismounted, and laid his arm 
over his friend’s shoulder. ‘‘My friend,” he said, with grave tender- 
ness, “I wondered why you were with these men, and my heart 
was heavy; but now I see that you were here to turn aside the guns 
of the cattlemen. My heart is big with friendship for you. Once 
more you have proved my good counselor.” And tears dimmed 
the fierceness of his eyes. 

A week later, a slim, smooth-cheeked second lieutenant, by 
virtue of his cap and the crossed arms which decorated his collar, 
ran the line, and Lone Wolf made no resistance. “I have no fight 
with the soldiers of the Great Father,” he said: “‘they do not come 
to gain my land. I now see that Washington has decreed that this 
fence shall be built.” Nevertheless, his heart was very heavy, and 
in his camp his heroic old guard sat waiting, waiting! 


[84] 


BIG MOGGASEN 





BIG MOGGASEN 


R in the Navajoe Country there are mountains almost 

unknown to the white man. Beginning on the dry penon 

spotted land they rise to pine clad hills-where many springs 
are. Deep cafions with wondrous cliffs of painted stone cut athwart 
the ranges and in crevices of these walls, so it is said, are the stone 
houses of most ancient peoples. It is not safe for white men to go 
there—especially with pick and shovel, for Big Moggasen the 
Chief is keenly alive to the danger of permitting miners to peer 
about the rocks and break them up with hammers. 

Because these mountains are unknown they are alluring and 
men often came to the agency for permission to enter the unknown 
land. To them the agent said, ““No, I don’t want a hellabaloo 
raised about your death in the first place, and in the second place 
this reservation belongs to the Navajoes—you’d better prospect in 
some other country.” 

Big Moggasen lived far away from the agency and was never 
seen even by the native police. He lived quite independent of the 
white man’s bounty. He drew no rations and his people paid no 
taxes. His young men tended the sheep, the old men worked in 
silver and his women wove blankets which they sold to the traders 
for coffee and flour. In such wise he lived from the time that his 
father’s death made him a chief. 

In winter his people retreated to the valleys where they were 
sheltered from the wind—where warm hogans of logs and dirt pro- 
tected them from the cold, and in the spring when the snow began 
to melt they drove their flocks of black and white sheep, mixed with 
goats, higher in the hills. In midsummer when the valleys were 
baking hot, the young herders urged their herd far up among the 

[87] 


The Book of the American Indian 


pines where good grass grew and springs of water gushed from 
every cafion. 

Their joys equaled their sorrows. True the old were always 
perishing and birth was a pain, and the sheep sometimes starved 
because the snow covered the grass, and the children died of throat 
sickness, but of such is human life in all lands. For the most part 
they had plenty of meat to roast, and berries and pinon nuts to make 
it savory, and the young men always had hearts for dancing and the 
young girls pulled at their robes and every one laughed in the light 
of the dance-fire. 

But at last the people began to complain. Women chattered 
their discontentment as they wove their blankets under the cedars 
and the old men gossiped in twos and threes before their camp- 
fires. The children cried for coffee and cakes of flour, and at last 
Big Moggasen was forced to consider the discontent of his people. 
His brow was black as he rose in council to say: “‘What is the 
matter that you all grumble and whine like lame coyotes? Of old 
it was not so, you took what that sun spirits sent and were brave, 
now you have the hearts of foxes. What is it you want?” 

Then Black Bear, a young chief man arose and said: “‘ We will 
tell you, father. The Tinné to the south have a better time than we 
do. They have better clothing and coffee each day and wagons in 
which to ride or carry heavy loads. They have shovels with which 
to build hogans and to dig wells for their sheep. They have hats 
also which keep off. the sun in summer and snow in winter. Why 
do we not have some of these good things also? We need wells and 
have nothing to dig them with. We go about bareheaded and the 
sun is hot on our hair. We grow tired of meat without drink. We 
think therefore that we should go down and see the white man and 
get some of these needed things.” 

To this applauded speech old Big Moggasen sharply replied: 
“I have heard of these things for a long time, but a bear does not 
present me with his ears for love of me. Why does the white man 


[88] 


Big Moggasen 


give these things? I have trapped deer by such sly actions. It is 
for some reason that our cousins are fed on sweet things by the 
white man. They wish to make captives of us. They will steal 
our children and our wives. I have known of the ways of white 
men for many years. I am old and my face is wrinkled with think- 
ing about him. I am not to be instructed of boys in such a matter.” 

All the night long the talk raged. Big Moggasen stood like a 
rock in the wash of the current. He repeated again and again his 
arguments. “The white man does not give his coat to the Tinné 
without hope of pay. It is all a trick.” 

At last he gave way and consented to go with two of his head 
men and see the Little Father and find out for himself the whole 
truth. He went reluctantly and with drawn brows for he was not 
at all sure of returning again. All the old people shared his feeling 
but Brown Bear and Four Fingers who had traveled much laughed 
openly and said: “‘See, they go like sick men. Their heads hang 
down toward their feet like sick ponies. They need some of the 
white man’s hot drink.”’ 

They traveled hard to the south for three days coming into a 
hot dry climate, which they did not like. There was little grass and 
the sheep were running to and fro searching for food somewhere, 
even eating sagebrush. The women were everywhere making 
blankets, and each night when they stopped the men of the north 
had coffee to drink and the people told many strange things of the 
whites. The old men had heard these things before but they had 
not really believed them. Some of the women said, “‘My children 
are away at the white man’s big house. They wear the white man’s 
clothes and eat three times each day from white dishes. They 
are learning the ways of the white man.” 

“T like it not,” said Big Moggasen, “it is their plan to steal 
them and make them work for the white man. Why do they do 
these things?”’ 

One woman held up a big round silver piece, “You see this? 


[89] 


The Book of the American Indian 


My man digs for the white man far in the south where the big iron 
horse runs and he gets one of these every day. Therefore we have 
coffee and flour often—and shoes and warm clothing.” 

Big Moggasen shook his head and went on to the south. He 
came at last to the place where the soldiers used to be in the olden 
time and behold there were some big new red houses and many 
boys and girls and ten white people, and all about stood square 
hogans in which Tinné also lived. At the door of one of these 
hogans stood a white-haired man and he said: 

“Friend, I do not know you but you are welcome. Come in 
and eat.” 

The old man entered and in due time Big Moggasen told his 
name and his errand and his fears. 

To this White-hairs replied: “‘It is natural for you to feel so. 
Once I felt the same but the white man has not harmed me yet. 
My children have learned to speak his tongue and to write. They 
are happier than they were and that makes me happy. I do not 
understand the white people. They are strange. Their thoughts 
are not our thoughts but they are wonder-workers. I am in awe 
_of them. They are wiser than the spirits. They do things which it 
is impossible for us to do, therefore I make friends with them. 
They have done me no harm. My children are fond of them and 
so I am content.” 

All the evening the old men from the northern mountains sat 
arguing, questioning, shaking their heads. At last they said, 
“Very well, in the morning we will go to the Little Father and hear 
what he has to say. To us it now seems that these strange people 
have thrown dust in your eyes and that they are scheming to make 
pack-ponies of you.” 

In the morning they drank again of the white man’s coffee with 
sweet in it and ate of the white man’s bread and it was all very 
seductive to the tongue. Then old White-hairs led them to the 
Little Father’s room. 

[90] 


Big Moggasen 


The Little Father was a small man who wore bits of glass before 
his eyes. He was short-spoken and his voice was high and shrill 
but calm. 

“What is it?”’ he said to White-hairs in the Tinné tongue. 

“These are they from the mountains,’ replied White-hairs. 
“This is Big Moggasen.”’ 

The Little Father rose and held out his hand, “How is your 
health?” 

Big Moggasen took his hand but coldly. 

“This is Tall-man and this Silver Arrow.” 

After they had shaken hands the Little Father said: “Sit down 
and we will smoke.” He gave them some tobacco and when they 
had rolled it into little leaves of paper he said: “Well now, what 
can I do for you?”’ 

After a long pause Big Mogassen began abruptly: “We live in 
the mountains, three days’ journey from here. We are poor. We 
have no wagons or shovels like the people who live here. We are 
of one blood with them. We do not see why we should not have 
these things. We have come for them. My people want wagons 
to carry logs in and shovels to dig wells and harnesses to put on our 
ponies.” 

To this the Little Father replied: “Yes, we have these good 
things and I give them to your people. They are for those who are 
good and who walk in the white man’s trail. We wish to help you 
also. Did you bring any children with you?” 

eNO. 

“You must do that. We wish to educate your children. If 
you bring twenty children to school I will see what I can do for 
you.” 

Big Moggasen harshly replied: “I did not come to talk about 
school.” 

The answer was quick and stern: “But I did. You will get 
nothing until you send your children to me to be schooled.” 


[91] 


The Book of the American Indian 


Big Moggasen’s veins swelled with the rush of his hot blood. 
He leaped to his feet tense and rigid. “No. My children shall not 
come. I do not believe in the white man or his ways. I do not like 
the white man’s ways. I am old and I have seen many things. The 
white man makes our young men drunk. He steals away our 
daughters. He takes away their hearts with sweet drinks and 
clothes. He is a wolf.” 

The Little Father remained calm. “It is true there are bad 
white men, but there are those who are good.” 

“Those I do not see,” growled the chief. “All my life I have 
thrust the white men away because they came to steal our land. 
I do not want my children to learn their ways.” 

“Then you can’t have any of the great fellow’s presents.” 

“Then I will go home as I came, hungry and cold,” replied the 
old man, wrapping his blanket around him. 

“To show that I am not angry,” said the Little Father. “I will 
give you something to eat on your way home.” 

The old man grew stern and set. “I did not come to beg of the 
white man. I did not come to ask anything for myself. I came 
because my people in council decided to send me. I have come. 
' I am old and I have not departed from the ways of my fathers. I 
have lived thus far without the white man’s help, I will die as I 
have lived. I have spoken.” 

Turning abruptly he went out, followed by his companions and 
old White-hairs, whose face was very sad. 


[92] 


THE STORM-CHILD 





OG 
Sy ee 


ta) 
2 





THE STORM-CHILD 


HERE was tranquillity in the warm lodge of Waumdisapa, 

chief of the Tetons. It was always peaceful there for it is 

the duty of a headman to render his people harmonious 

and happy—but it was doubly tranquil on this midwinter day, for 

a mighty tumult had arisen in the tops of the tall willows, and 

across the grass of the bleak plain an icy dust was wildly slid- 

ing. Nearly all the men of the band were in camp, so fierce was 
the blast. 

Waumdisapa listened tranquilly to the streams of snow lash- 
ing his tepee’s cap and felt it on his palm as it occasionally sifted 
down through the smoke-vent, and said, “The demons may howl 
and the white sands slide—my people are safe here behind the hills. 
With food and plenty of blankets we can wait.” 

Hour by hour he smoked, or gravely meditated, his mind filled 
with the pursuits and dangers of the past. Now and again as an 
aged wrinkled warrior lifted the door-flap he was invited to enter 
to partake of tobacco and to talk of the gathering spirits of winter. 

In a neighboring lodge the chief’s wife was at work beside her 
kettle singing a low song as she minded her fire, and through the 
roaring, whistling, moaning riot of the air-sprites other women 
could be heard cheerfully beating their way from fire to fire. A 
few hunters were still abroad, but no one was alarmed about them. 
The tempest was a subject of jest and comparison with other days. 
No one feared its grim power. Was it not a part of nature, an 
enemy always to be met! 

Suddenly the sound of a moaning cry broke in upon the chief’s 
meditation. The tent-door was violently thrown up and with 
a hoarse wail, Oma, a young widow, entered the lodge, and threw 


[95] 





The Book of the American Indian 





herself before the feet of Waumdisapa. ““My baby! My little boy 
is lost in the snow. O father, pity me—help me!” 

Quickly the chief questioned her. “Where?” 

“Out there!”’ she motioned with her hand—a wild gesture 
toward the bleak remorseless north. “I was with my brothers 
hunting the buffalo—the storm came on—my baby wandered away 
from the camp. We could not find him. They came away—taking 
me, too. They would not let me stay. Send hunters—find him. 
Take pity on me, my father!” 

The chief turned to her brothers (who had followed her and 
were looking on with sad faces) and said, “Is this true?”’ 

“Tt is!” they said. “We were in temporary camp. We were 
resting. The tempest leaped upon us. All was in confusion. The 
baby wandered away—the snow must have covered him quickly. 
We could not find him though we searched hard and long. The 
storm grew. Some of us came on to bring the women and children 
to camp. Three of us, my brothers and I, remained to look 
for the boy. We could not find him. He is buried deep in 
the snow.” 

The chief, touched by the woman’s agony, rose in reproof. 
“Go back!” he said, sternly. “Take other of the young men. 
Cover every foot of ground near your camp.” 

“The night is coming.” 

*“No matter—search!’’ commanded the chief. 

A party of braves was soon made up. As they rode away into 
the blast Oma wished to go with them, but the chief prevented her. 

All the afternoon she remained in the chief’s lodge crowding 
close to his feet—listening, moaning, waiting. She was weak with 
hunger, and shivering with cold, but she would not eat, would not 
go to her silent and lonely fireplace. | 

“No, no, father, I will stay with you,” she said. 

Swiftly the darkness fell upon the camp. The cold intensified. 
The tempest increased in violence, howling above the willows like 


[96] 


The Storm-Child 


an army of flying demons. The snows beat upon the stout skins of 
the lodges and fell in heaps which grew ever higher, but the mothers 
of the camp came one by one, young and old, to comfort the stricken 
one, speaking words of cheer. 

“They will bring him.” 

“The brave hunters will find your boy.” 

“They know no fear.” 

“They have sharp eyes.” 

“Their hearts are warm.” 

“They will rescue him.” 

Nevertheless, two by two the hardy trailers returned, cold, 
weary, covered with ice, their faces sad, their eyes down- 
east. “Blackness is on the plain,’ they reported. “Nothing 
moves but the snow. We have searched hard. We have called, 
we have listened close, no voice replies. Nothing is to be seen, 
or heard.” 

With each returning unsuccessful scout the mother’s grief and 
despair deepened. Heartbroken, she lay prone on the ground, her 
face in the dust, while the sorrowful songs of the women went on 
around her. Truly hers was a piteous plight. 

“To lose one’s only child is sad. She has no man. She is alone.” 

“The sun-god has forsaken her,’ said one old woman. “He 
is angry. She has neglected some sacrifice.” 

At last Hacone, the bravest, most persistent scout of all, one 
who loved Oma, came silently in and dropped exhausted beside 
the chieftain’s fire. 

“Night, black stranger, has come,” he said, “I can search no 
longer. Twice I lost my way, twice my horse fell. Blinding was 
the wind. My breath was taken. Long I looked for the camp. 
The signal fires guided me. Dead is the child.” 

With a whimper of anguish the poor mother fell back upon the 
floor and lay as one dead, hearing no sound. All night long her low 
moans went on—and the women who lifted and bore her away 


[97] 


The Book of the American Indian 





sang songs of grief with intent to teach her that sorrow was the 
lot of all women and that happiness was but a brief spot of sunlight 
in a world of shadow. 

II 

The morning broke at last, still, cold, clear, and serene. The 
tall trees stood motionless to the tips as though congealed into 
iron, and the smoke of each fire rose slow as though afraid to leave 
the tepee’s mouth. Here and there an old woman scurried about 
bearing fuel. The dogs slunk through the camp whining with cold 
—holding up their half-frozen feet. The horses uneasily circled, 
brushing close against each other for warmth. Indeed it was a 
morning of merciless cruelty—the plain was a measureless realm 
of frost. 

In Oma’s tent physical agony was added to grief, or so it seemed, 
but in truth the mother knew only sorrow. She was too deeply 
schooled by the terrors of the plains not to know how surely the 
work of the winter demon had been done. Somewhere out there her 
sweet little babe was lying stiff and stark in his icy bed—somewhere 
on the savage and relentless upland his small limbs were at the 
mercy of the cold. - 

One by one her friends reassembled to help her bear her loss— 
eager to offer food, quick to rebuild her fire—but she would not 
listen, could not face the cheerful flame. Meat and the glow of 
embers were of no avail to revive her frozen, hopeless heart. 

The chief himself came at last to see her—to inquire again 
minutely of her loss. ‘“‘We will seek further,” he said. “‘We will 
find the boy. We will bring him to you. Be patient.” 

Suddenly a shout arose. “‘A white man! a white man!” and the 
warning cry carried forward from lip to lip announced the news to 
Waumadisapa. 

““A white man comes—riding a pony and bearing something 
in his arms. He is within the camp circle!” 


[98] 








ger 


NV yeaer a Nwiningteoy . 





Footprints in the Snow 


To an old hunter, footprints in the snow are as an open 
book, and it was by these “‘signs”’ on the trail that the buf- 
falo-hunters knew the Sioux had crawled in upon the 
dispatch-bearer as he rested in a timbered bottom and 
poured in the bullets that put an end to his career. To 
the trooper, the plains white with snow had seemed lonely 
indeed, but, as he well knew, one could not, in those days, 
trust the plains to be as lonely as they looked, what with 
the possibility of Mr. Sitting Bull or Mr. Crazy Horse, 
with a band of his braves, popping out of some coulee, 
intent upon taking the scalp of any chance wayfarer. 


Illustration from 
WHEN A DOCUMENT IS OFFICIAL 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Harper’s MaGazine, September, 1899 






































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Geronimo and His Band Returning from 
a Raid in Mexico 


Leaving their reservation under such leaders as Geronimo, 
the Apache Indians, in the period 1882-86, used to take 
refuge in the Sierra Madre Mountains, and from this 
stronghold raid the settlements in Mexico and Arizona. 


Illustration from 
BORDER TROUBLES 
by William M. Edwardy 


Originally published in 
Harrer’s WEEELY, August 18, 1888 








The Storm-Child 


“Bring him to me!”? commanded Waumdisapa. “I will know 
his errand.” 

To all this Oma paid little heed. What to her was any living 
creatures now that she was utterly bereaved? | 

But the wail of a child pierced her heart and she sprang up, 
listened intently, just as a smiling young white man, carrying a 
bundle in his arms, entered the door and nodding carelessly to 
the chief, said in Sioux, “Here’s a little chap I found in the snow 
last night. I reckon it belongs here.” 

The frenzied mother leaped toward him and snatched the babe 
from his arms. Her cry of joy was sweet to hear, and as she cuddled 
the baby close, the hunter’s brown face grew very tender—though 
he laughed. 

“TI reckon that youngster’s gone to the right spot, chief. I 
thought he belonged to your band.” 

Then Waumdisapa shook him by the hand and commanded 
him to sit. ‘“‘Go shelter the white man’s horse,” he said, to his 
people, “‘and let a feast be cried, for the lost child is found. This 
warm-hearted stranger has brought the dead to life, and we are all 
glad.” 

The hunter laughed in some dismay, and put away the food 
which the women began to press upon him. “I must go, chief. 
My people wait. I do not deserve this fuss.” 

**T will send a messenger to say you are here. They shall also 
come to our feast.” 

“They may kill your messenger for we are at war.” 

The chief considered. ‘‘ Write large on a piece of paper. Say 
that we are at war no more. This deed has made us friends. You 
are one of us—we will honor you. We cannot let you go. See the 
mother’s'joy? She wishes to thank you!” ) 

It was true. Oma, holding her child in her arms, was kneeling 
before the young hunter, her face upturned in gratitude. She caught 
his hand and kissed it, pressing it to her cheek. 

[99] 








The Book of the American Indian 





“You are a good man. You have a brave warm heart. You 
have restored my child. I love you. I will love all white people 
hereafter. Stay and feast with us for I am very happy.” 

Flushed with embarrassment the young man shrank away. 
“Don’t do that! I have done very little. Any white man would 
have acted the same.” 

But the people of the snow would not have it so. Smilingly 
they laid hands upon him and would not let him go. “‘No, you must 
remain and dance with us. We will send for your companions—we 
will. write a new treaty of peace. Our gratitude shall make us 
brothers.” 

Like a flower that springs up in the wet grass after a rain the 
mother’s head lifted and her face shone with joy. The child.was 
untouched of frost, not even a toe had been pinched, and he fell 
asleep again as soon as he was fed. Then Oma laid him down and 
came to flutter about his rescuer with gestures of timid worship. 
She smiled with such radiance that the young man wondered at the 
change in_ her, and her ecstasy awoke his pity. Then the chief said: 

“See! Oma is a widow. She already loves you. Stay with us 
and take her to wife.” 

Then the youth grew more uneasy than ever and with hesitation 
said: ‘“‘No, chief, I can’t do that—far away among the white 
villagers is a girl who is to be my wife. I cannot marry anyone 
else. I have made a vow.” , 

The gentle old chief did not persist, but the women perceived 
how Oma’s gratitude grew and one of them took the hunter by the 
sleeve and while Oma stood before him in confusion said: “See! 
You have made her very happy. She desires to show you how much 
she owes to you—stay and be happy.” 

He shook them off, but in no unkindly way. “No,” he repeated. 
“IT must go,” and stepped toward the door of the lodge, strangely 
moved by the passion of this primitive scene. These grateful women 


moved him but he looked not back. 
[100] 


The Storm-Child 


Waumdisapa followed him. “Friend, tell me your name.” 

“Your people call me ‘Blazing Hand,’”’ returned the young man. 

“Hah!” shouted the chief in surprise. “Blazing Hand! you 
are much admired among my men. You are swift to shoot.” 

Blazing Hand! The name ran from lip to lip, for they had 
all heard of this reckless and remorseless young outlaw. More 
eagerly than ever they crowded to see him—but the chief after a 
moment regained his calm dignity of manner. “Blazing Hand, 
you have befriended my people before. Now we are doubly anxious 
to have you remain with us. . .” 

The young man lifted the door-flap. ‘“‘ Addvos,”’ he said, fixing 
his eyes on Oma. 

She plucked her child from its bed and ran toward him. “I 
have heard your name. It shall remain in my ears while [ live 
and I will teach my child that he may say it after I am dead.” 

Waumdisapa called to his scouts: “See that this man is guided 
safely to his fellows. And let no one molest him. Henceforth we 
are brothers. He and his may hunt and trap where they choose 
on Teton land.” 

The light was gray on the face of Oma as the stranger rode away 
—hbut the voice of her babe comforted her. Her smile came back 
and she said: ‘“‘Perhaps the kind hunter will return. The face of 
Blazing Hand will live forever in my heart.” 


[101] 






ant? 














THE BLOOD LUST 





THE BLOOD LUST 


the country from Fort Reno to Camp Supply, selected his 

friend Little Robe to be his guide. Little Robe was Cheyenne, 
a tall, grave and rather taciturn man, much respected in his tribe. 
Just as they were about to start he said to his employer, with 
gentle decision: 

“TI don’t know you—you don’t know me. I am Cheyenne, 
you are white man. It is best that we take no weapons along. Each 
of us may carry a knife, to use about the camp, but no guns.’” 

This struck Seger as a bit risky, but, realizing that his life was 
in the red man’s hands anyway, he decided to accept. “‘ Very well,” 
said he. “If you don’t need a gun, I don’t.” 

Driving a span of horses and carrying a meager camping outfit 
Seger set forth hopefully. It was in the days of the Star Routers, 
and this was a bogus line, but neither he nor Robe knew it. They 
were indeed very much in earnest. 

The weather was beautiful, and the prairies glorious. Larks 
were whistling, plovers crying. “I never enjoyed a ride more in 
my life,” said Seger, and, as for Little Robe, he proved a capital 
companion. His talk was most instructive. He never once became 
coarse or commonplace, and after the second day Seger trusted him 
perfectly—though he went to his blanket the first night with some 
apprehension. 

_ He soon saw why Robe had been recommended to him. His 
‘knowledge of the whole country was minute. Every stream sug- 
‘gested a story, every hill discovered a memory. As he came to 
‘like his white companion, he talked more and more freely of his life 


as a warrior, telling tales quite as Seger would have done had he 
[105] 


Jive SEGER, having been detailed to run a mail route across 








The Book of the American Indian 





been able to speak of his part in the Vicksburg campaign. To the 
chief, every enterprise of his career was honorable. It’s all in the 
point of view. 

He knew the heavens, too, and could lay his course almost as 
well by night as by day, and Seger soon came to have a genuine 
admiration as well as a feeling of affection for him. He was handy 
as a woman around the camp kettle, and never betrayed weariness 
or anger or doubt. 

~ One night as they rode down to camp in the valley of a small 
stream Robe looked about him with more than usual care, and a 
perceptible shadow fell over his face. “I know this place,” he said, 
and Seger could see that he was saddened by some recollection 
connected with it. 

He said no more till after they had eaten their supper, and were 
sitting beside the smouldering fire; then he began slowly to utter 
his mind. 

“Aye, friend, I know this place. It is filled with sad thoughts. 
I camped here many years ago. I was a young warrior then and reck- 
less, but my wife was with me, and my little daughter.” His lips 
took on a sweetness almost feminine as he paused. “She was very 
lovely, my child. She had lived five years and she could swim like 
an otter. She used to paddle about in this little pool. Several days 
I camped here debating whether to go on into the south country or 
not. You see, friend, I was in need of horses and in those days it 
was the custom for the young warriors of my tribe to make raids 
among the peaked hats, whom you call Mexicans, in order to drive 
off their horses. This was considered brave and honorable, and I 
was eager to go and enrich myself. 

““My wife did not wish me to take this journey. She wept when I 
told her my plan. ‘Do not go,’ she said, ‘stay with me!’ Then I 
began to consider taking her and my little daughter with me—for 
I did not like to be separated from them even for a day. My child 


. was so pretty, her cheeks were so round and her eyes so bright. She 
[106] 








The Blood Lust 


had little dimpled hands, ae when she put her arms Brabout wae 
neck my heart was like wax.’ B he 

The old warrior’s voice trembled as he reached this pane in his 
story, and for a long time he could not go on. At last he regained 
composure. “It was foolish to make the raid—it was very wrong 
to take my little girl, but I could not leave her behind. Therefore 
one day with my wife and daughter and my three brothers, I set 
out into the southwest, resolute to win some ponies. . 

** After the first two days we traveled at night and camped in a 
concealed place during the day. Slowly we stole forward, until at 
last we came near a small village of The Peaked Hats, where some 
fine horses and mules were reported to be had by advancing with 
boldness and skill. 

*“My own ponies were poor and weak and as I saw the fetes 
about this village I became very eager to own some of them. 
Especially did I desire a fine sorrel mare. It was not easy to get her, 
for these people had been many times raided by the Comanches 
and were very careful to round up their best animals at night and 
put them into a high corral. Nevertheless, I told my brothers to be 
ready and that I myself would adventure to the gate, open it, and 
drive forth our prizes. sod 

*““My wife begged me to give up my plan. She wept and clung 
to my arm. ‘It will lead to evil, I feel it,’ she said. ‘You will be 
killed.’ But I had given my word. I could not fail of it. “Take my 
wife,’ I said sternly to my younger brother. ‘Take her and the 
little one and ride northward toward that black butte. I will meet 
you there at daybreak,’ I said. 

“My wife took our little daughter in her arms, and my brother 
led them away. I vale hear my wife moaning as she rode into 
the dark night “ 

Again the deep voice faltered, as the memory of this parting 
wail came back to him, but he soon resumed quietly: “Slowly I 


crept forward. I reached the corral, but could not find the gate. 
[107] 





The Book of the American Indian 


It was on the side nearest the village and as I crept round feel- 
ing of the poles, the dogs began to bark. I kept on, however, 
and at last found and tore down the bars. Entering the corral, 
I began to lash the horses with my lariat. As the sorrel was 
about to pass me I caught her and leaped upon her back. In 
a few moments I was driving the whole herd like a whirlwind 
across the plain. 

“My brother joined me and we tried to turn the herd northward, 
but the leaders gave me great trouble. At last some of them escaped 
and returned to the village. We heard shouting, we were pursued. 
Roping and tying some of the best of the ponies we could overtake, 
we drove them before us toward the butte, well pleased with our 
capture. 

“We traveled hard, overtaking my brother and my wife and 
baby girl, but thereafter we were unable to make speed on account 
of the child and its mother, and on account of the horses, two of 
which were fine but very stubborn. I could not consent to set them 
loose though I knew I was endangering my dear ones by delay. 
It was very foolish and I was made to suffer for my folly. 

“The Mexicans must have had other horses hidden and ready 
saddled, for they came swiftly on our trail and before long they began 
to shoot. Almost the first shot they fired struck my wife in the back, 
and passing entirely through her body wounded my little daughter. 
I turned then and began to shoot in return and my pursuers fell 


back. We abandoned all the horses but two and when my wife told 


me of her hurt I took my little girl in my arms and rode fast for a 
place of concealment. My wife was badly crippled and got upon 
another horse, and followed me closely. _ 

“That day we spent in swiftest flight—using every precaution 
to conceal our trail. I did not know how sadly mangled my child 
was, but she moaned with pain and that nearly broke my heart, 
and yet I dared not stop. I realized how crazy I had been to bring 


her into this land, but my repentance came too late. At every 
[108] 


oe 


The Blood Lust 


stream I gave her water to drink and bathed her wound, but it was 
of no avail—she died in my arms—”’ 

The warrior stopped abruptly. His lips quivered and his eyes 
were dim with memories too sad for speech. For some minutes he 
sat in silence, the tears rolling down his browned and wrinkled 
cheeks. At last he brokenly resumed. 

“Friend, we buried her there in ‘that lonely land and kept on 
our way. But thereafter I could not sleep. When I closed my eyes 
I could see my baby’s little round face and feel her soft arms about 
my neck, and my heart was full of bitterness. I longed for revenge. 
My blood cried out for the death of the man whose bullet had taken 
her life. Each night in our homeward way my heart burned hot 
in my bosom, flaming with hate. It was like a live ember in my 
flesh. 

“My woman who knew what was in my mind begged me not 
to return to the south—but I shut my ears to her pleading. I 
assembled my clan*round me. I called upon those who wished to 
help me revenge the death of my daughter to join me. Many 
stepped forth and at last with a band of brave young men I swept 
back and fell like a whirlwind on that town. 

“When I left it, only,a heap of ashes could be’seen. Of all who 
inhabited that village not one escaped me—not one.” Then with 
a face of bronze and with biblical brevity of phrase he concluded: 
** After that I slept.” 


[109] 


THE REMORSE OF 
WAUMDISAPA 





THE REMORSE OF WAUMDISAPA* 
[rere was dissension in the camp of Waumdisapa. Mat- 


towan, his cousin, jealous of his chief’s great fame, was 
conspiring to degrade and destroy him. 

Waumdisapa, called “‘King of the Plains” by those bordermen 
who knew him best, was famed throughout the valley of the Platte. 
Grave, dignified, serious of face and commanding of figure, he rose 
intellectually above all his people as his splendid body towered in 
the dance, a natural leader of men. His people were still living their 
own life, happy in their own lands, free to come and go, sweeping 
from north to south as the bison moved, needing nothing of the 
white man but his buffalo guns and his ammunition. It was in these 
days that women emptied the flour of their rations upon the grass 
in order to use the cloth of the sack, careless of the food of the pale- 
face which was considered enervating and destructive to warriors 
and hunters. 

Yet even in those days Waumdisapa was friendly with the 
traders, and like the famous Sitting Bull of the north, was only 
anxious to keep his people from corrupting contact with the whites, 
jealous to hold his lands and resolute to maintain his tribal tradi- 
tions. His was the true chief’s heart—all his great influence was 
used to maintain peace and order. He carried no weapon—save the 
knife with which he shaved his tobacco and cut his meat, and on 
his arm dangled the beaded bag in which the sacred pipe of friend- 
ship and meditation lay, and wherever he walked turmoil ceased. 

For these reasons he was greatly beloved by his people. No 
one feared him—not even the children of the captive Ute woman 
who served Iapa—and yet he had gained his preéminence by virtue 


* A substantially true account of an incident well-known to bordermen. 


[113] 


The Book of the American Indian 


of great deeds as well as by strong and peaceful thoughts. Hewasa 
moving orator also—polished and graceful of utterance, conciliatory 
and placating at all times. Often he turned aside the venomous 
hand of revenge and cooled the hot heart of war. In tribal policies 
he was always on the side of justice. 

Mattowan was a brave warrior, too, a man respected for his 
horsemanship, his skill with death-dealing weapons, and distin- 
guished, too, for his tempestuous eloguence—but he was also feared. 
His hand was quick against even his brothers in council. He could 
not tolerate restraint. Checked now and again by Waumdisapa, 
he had darkened with anger, and in his heart a desire for revenge 
was smoldering like a hidden fire in the hollow of a great tree. 

He was ambitious. ‘Why should Waumdisapa be chief? Am 
I not of equal stature, of equal fame as a warrior?”’ So he argued 
among his friends, spreading disaffection. ‘‘Waumdisapa is grow- 
ing old,” he sneered. “He talks for peace, for submission to the 
white man. His heart is no longer that of a warrior. He sits 
much in his tepee. It is time that he were put away.” 

When the chief heard these words he was very sad and very 
angry. He called a council at once to consider what should be done 
with the traitor and the whole tribe trembled with excitement and 
awe. What did it mean when the two most valiant men of the tribe 
stood face to face like angry panthers? 

When the head men were assembled Waumdisapa, courteous, 
grave and self-contained, placed Mattowan at his left and old Mato, 
the hereditary chief, upon his right, and took his seat with serene 
countenance. Outside the council tepee the women sat upon the 
ground—silent, attentive, drawn closer to the speakers than they 
were accustomed to approach. The children, even the girl babies, 
crouched beside their mothers—their desire for play swallowed up 
in a dim sense of some impending disaster. No feast was being 
prepared, smiles were few and furtive. No one knew what was 


about to take place, but a foreboding of trouble chilled them. 
[114] 





The Remorse of Waumdisapa 





The chief lighted his pipe and passed it to Mato who put it to 
his lips, drew a deep whiff and passed it to his neighbor. So it went 
slowly from man to man while Waumdisapa sat, in silence, with 
downcast eyes, awaiting its return. 

As the pipe came to Mattowan he, the traitor, passed it by 
with a gesture of contempt. 

The chief received it again with a steady hand, but from his 
lowered eye-lids a sudden flame shot. Handing the pipe to Mato 
he rose, and looking benignantly, yet sadly, round the circle, 
began very quietly: 

“Brothers, the Lakotans are a great people, just and generous 
to their foes, faithful to the laws of their tribe. I am your chief. 
You all know how I became so. Some of you knew my father—he 
was a great warrior Pe 

** Aye, so he was,”’ said Mato. 

“He was a wise and good man also,” continued Waumdisapa. 

** Aye, aye,” chorused several of the old men. 

“He brought me up in the good way. He taught me to respect 
my elders and to honor my chief. He told me the stories of our 
tribe. He taught me to pray—and to shoot. He taught me to 
dance, to sing the ancient songs, and when I was old enough he led 
me to battle. My skill with the spear and the arrow I drew from 
- him, he gave me courage and taught me forbearance. When he died 
you made me leader in his place and carefully have I followed his 
footsteps. I have kept the peace among my people. I have given 
of my abundance to the poor. I have not boasted or spoken envi- 
ously because my father would be ashamed of me if I did so. Now 
the time has come to speak plainly. I hear that my brother who sits 
beside me—Mattowan, the son of my mother’s sister—is envious. I 
hear that he wishes to see me put aside as one no longer fit to rule.” 

He paused here and the tension was very great in all the 
assembly, but Mattowan sullenly looked out over the heads of the 


women—his big mouth close set. 
[115] 





The Book of the American Indian 





The chief gently said: “‘This shall be as you say. If you, my 
brothers, head men of the Lakotans, say I am old and foolish, 
then Waumdisapa will put aside his chief’s robes and go forth to sit 
outside the council circle.”” His voice trembled as he uttered this 
resolution—but drawing himself to proud height he concluded in a 
firm voice: ‘Brothers, I have spoken.” 

As he took his seat a low mournful sound passed among the 
women, and the mother of Mattowan began to sing a bitter song 
of reproach—but some one checked her, as old Mato rose. He was 
small, with the face of a fox, keen, shrewd, humorous. After the 
usual orator’s preamble, he said: “‘Brothers, this is very foolish. 
Who desires to have Mattowan chief? Only a few boys and grum- 
blers. What has he done to be chief? Nothing that others have 
not done. He is a crazy man. His heart is bad. Would he bring 
dissension among us? Let us rebuke this braggart. For me I am 
old—I sit here only by courtesy of Waumdisapa, but for me I want 
no change. I do not wish to make a wolf the war chief of my people. 
I have spoken.” 

As the pipe went round and one by one the head men rose to 
praise and defend their chieftain, Mattowan became furious. He 
trembled and his face grew ferocious with his almost ungovernable 
hate and disappointment—plainly the day was going against him. 

At last he sprang up, forgetting all form—all respect. “You 
are all squaws,” he roared. “You are dogs licking the bones this 
whining coward throws to you 4 

He spoke no more. With the leap of a panther his chief fell 
upon him and with one terrible blow sunk his knife to the hilt in 
his heart. Smitten with instant palsy Mattowan staggered a 
moment amid the moans of the women, and the hoarse shouts of 
the men, and fell forward, face down in the very center of the 
council circle. 

For a minute Waumdisapa, tense and terrible in his anger, stood 


looking down upon his fallen calumniator—rigid, menacing, ready 
[116] 











An Indian Brave 


Illustration from 
A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published by 
R. H. Russeuz, 1901 


W, 





The Remorse of Waumdisapa 


to strike again—then his vast muscles relaxed, his eyes misted with 
tears and with a moan of remorse and anguish he lifted his blanket 
till his quivering lips were covered—crying hoarsely, “‘I have killed 
my brother. I am no longer fit to be your chief.” 

Thereupon dropping his embroidered pipe-bag and his cere- 
monial fan upon the ground he turned and walked slowly away 
with staggering, shaking limbs, onward through the camp, out 
upon the plain and there, throwing himself down upon the ground, 
began to chant a wild song of uncontrollable grief. 

All night long he lay thus, mourning like a wounded lion, and 
his awed people dared not approach. Over and over, with anguished 
voice, he cried: ‘‘ Father pity me. My hand is red with my brother’s 
blood. I have broken the bond’ of the council circle. My heart is 
black with despair!—Pity me!—My brother!” 


In the morning he returned to his tepee, moving like an old man, 
bent and nerveless, avoiding all eyes, ignoring all greetings—and 
when next the council met, Waumdisapa, clad in rags, with dust 
upon his head, silently took his place outside the council circle— 
self-accused and self-deposed. 

The sight of their chief moving so humbly to a seat among the 
obscure, deeply affected the women, and a wailing song ran among 
them like an autumn wind—but Waumdisapa’s head was bowed 
to hide his quivering lips. i 


[117] 





A DECREE OF 
COUNCIL 





’ 
es 
Mat 






A DECREE OF COUNCIL 
B: NOSE was an inveterate gambler. Like all the plains 


tribes the Shi-an-nay are a social people. They love com- 

panionship and the interchange of jest and story. At 
evening, when the day’s hunt is over, they come together to tell 
stories and joke and discuss each other’s affairs precisely as the 
peasants of a French village do. And when amusement is desired 
they dance or play games. 

It is this feeling on their part which makes it so difficult for the 
Government to carry out its theories of allotment. It is difficult to 
uproot a habit of life which has been thousands of years forming. 
It is next to impossible to get one of these people to leave the village 
group and go into his lonely little cabin a mile or two from a neighbor. 
And the need of amusement is intensified by the sad changes in the 
life of these people. Games of chance appeal to them precisely as 
they do to the negro and to large classes of white people. They 
play with the same abandon with which the negro enters into a 
game of craps. 

One evening Big Nose was in company with three or four others 
in the midst of Charcoal’s camp playing The Hand game. He had 
been doing some work for the Post and had brought with him to 
the camp a little heap of silver dollars. He was therefore in excel- 
lent temper for a brisk game. But luck was against him. His little 
‘ store of money melted away and then he began taking his ponies, 
his gun, and finally his blankets and his tepee; all went into the 
yawning gulf of his bad luck. Before midnight came he had staked 
everything but the clothing on his back and had reached a con- 
dition of mind bordering on frenzy. 

Nothing was too small for his opponents to accept and nothing 

[121] 


2 


ad 





The Book of the American Indian 





was too valuable for him to stake. He began putting his moccasins 
up on the chance and ended by tearing off his Gee string which 
represented his absolute impoverishment. A reasonable being would 
have ended the game here but with a desperation hitherto unknown 
to the gamblers of his tribe, he sat naked on the ground and gambled 
both his wives away. 

When he realized what had happened to him, that he was abso- 
lutely without home or substance in the world, naked to the cold 
and having no claim upon a human being, his frenzy left him and he 
sank into pitiful dejection. Walking naked through the camp, he 
began to cry his need, “Take pity on me, my friends. I have 
nothing. The wind is cold. I have no blanket. I am hungry. I 
have no tepee.” 

For a long time no one paid any heed to him, for they were 
disgusted with his foolishness and they would not allow his 
wives to clothe him or give him shelter. However, at last, his 
brother came out and gave him a blanket and took him into his 
tepee. “Let this be a lesson to you,” he said. “You are a fool. 
Yet I pity you.” 

Next day a council was called to consider his case, which was 
the most remarkable that had ever happened in the tribe. There 
were many who were in favor of letting him take. care of himself, 
but in the end it was decreed that he should be clothed and that 
he should have a tepee and the absolute necessities of life. 

The question of restoring him to his wives was a much 
more serious one, the general opinion being that a man who 
would gamble his wives away in this way had no further claim 
upon a woman. 

At last, old Charcoal arose to speak. He was a waggish old 
fellow whose eye twinkled with humor as he said, “Big Nose has 
two wives as you know. One of them is young. She is industrious. 
She is very quiet, saying little and speaking in a gentle voice. The 
other is old and has a sharp tongue. Her tongue is like a whip. It 

[122] 








In an Indian Camp 


The two men standing are in argument about the squaw 
seated between them, for the possession of whom they had 
gambled, the brave in the breech-clout, although the loser, 
refusing, in Indian parlance, “to put the woman on the 
blanket.” 


Tllustration from 
SUN-DOWN LEFLARE’S WARM SPOT 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in ’ 
Harper’s MaGazinp, September, 1898 
























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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HM ATNTNTTNTTTTNTATATTATATAN IAT NNT 





Crow Indians Firing into the Agency 


This incident occurred in 1887 on the Crow Reservation in 
Northern Montana. A score or so of young Crow braves 
having captured sixty horses in a raid they made on a 
Piegan camp, were wildly celebrating the victory when the 
agent sought to arrest them with his force of Indian police. 
Upon this the raiders assumed a hostile attitude and as a 
defiance they began firing into the agency buildings. 


Illustration from 
THE TURBULENT CROWS 


Originally published in 
HARPER’s WEEKLY, November 5, 1887 





A Decree of Council 


makes her husband smart. Now let us restore him to his old wife. 
She will be good discipline for him. She will not let him forget what 
he has done.” 

This suggestion made every one laugh and it was agreed with. 
And the news was carried to Big Nose. “I don’t want my old 
wile,” he said. “I want my young wife.” 

“The council has decreed,”’ was the stern answer, “and there is 
no appeal.” 

Big Nose accepted the ruling of the tribe and resolutely turned 
his face in the right direction. He gave up gambling and became 
one of the most progressive men of the tribe. By hard work he 
acquired a team and a wagon and worked well, freighting for the 
Agency and for the Post traders. 

His old wife, however, grew more and more unsatisfactory as 
the years went by. For some inscrutable reason, she did not care 
to make a home, but was always moving about from camp to camp, 
full of gossip and unwelcome criticism. All this Big Nose patiently 
endured for four years. But one day he came to Seger, the superin- 
tendent of the school near him, and said: 

**My friend, you know I am walking the white man’s road. You 
see that I want to do right. I have a team. I work hard. I want 
a home where I can live quietly. But my old wife is trifling. She 
is good for nothing. She wants to gad about all the time and never 
stay home and look after the chickens. I want to put her away and 
take another and better wife.” 

Seger was very cautious. ‘‘ What do the old chiefs say about it?” 

Big Nose looked a little discouraged, but he answered defiantly, 
“Oh, I am walking the white man’s road these days. I don’t care 
what they say. I am listening to what you say.” 

*“T’ll consider the matter,’’ he replied evasively, for he wished 
to consult the head men. When he had stated the matter to White 
Shield, he said, ““Now, of course, whatever you think best in this 
matter will be acceptable. I don’t know anything about the cir- 

[123] 


ch. etiin ok 


The Book of the American Indian 


cumstances, but if this old woman is as bad as Big Nose says, she 
is of no account.” 

White Shield, very quietly, replied, “Big Nose can never marry 
again.” 

“Why not?” inquired Seger, being interested in White Shield’s 
brevity and decision of utterance. 

White Shield replied, “‘Haven’t you heard how Big Nose gam- 
bled his wives away? That thing he did. Gambled away his tepees, 
his clothing, and walked naked through the camp. We gave him 
clothes. We gave back one wife, but we marked out a road and he 
must walk in it. He cannot marry again.” 

And from this decree there was no appeal. 


£124] 


DRIFTING CRANE 





DRIFTING CRANE 


HE people of Boomtown invariably spoke of Henry Wilson 
as the oldest settler in the Jim Valley, as he was of Buster 


County, but the Eastern man, with his ideas of an ‘“‘old 
settler,” was surprised as he met the short, silent, middle-aged man, 
who was very loath to tell anything about himself, and about 
whom many strange and thrilling stories were told. 

Between his ranch and the settlements in Eastern Dakota there 
was the wedge-shaped reservation known as the Sisseton Indian 
Reserve, on which were stationed the customary agency and com- 
pany of soldiers. The valley was unsurveyed for the most part, 
and the Indians naturally felt a sort of proprietorship in it, and 
when Wilson drove his cattle down into the valley and squatted, 
the chief, Drifting Crane, welcomed him, as a host might, to an 
abundant feast whose hospitality was presumed upon, but who felt 
the need of sustaining his reputation for generosity, and submitted 
graciously. 

The Indians during the first summer got to know Wilson, and 
liked him for his silence, his courage, his simplicity; but the older 
men pondered upon the matter a great deal and watched with 
grave faces to see him ploughing up the sod for his garden. There 
was something strange in this solitary man thus deserting his 
kindred, coming here to live alone with his cattle; they could not 
understand it. What they said in those pathetic, dimly lighted 
lodges will never be known; but when winter came, and the new- 
comer did not drive his cattle back over the hills as they thought he 
would, then the old chieftains took long counsel upon it. Night 
after night they smoked upon it, and at last Drifting Crane said to 


two of his young men: “Go ask this cattleman why he remains in 
[127] 





on 


The Book of ‘Ne American Indian 








the cold and snow with his cattle. Ask him why he does not drive 
his cattle home.” 

This was in March, and one evening a couple of days later, as 
Wilson was about re-entering his shanty at the close of his day’s 
work, he was confronted by two stalwart Indians, who greeted him 
pleasantly. 

‘*How d’e do*yhe said in reply. “Come in.” 

The Indians entered and sat silently while he put some food on 
the table. They hardly spoke till after they had eaten. The 
Indian is always hungry, for the reason that his food supply is 
insufficient and his clothing poor. When they sat on the cracker- 
boxes and soap-boxes which served as seats, they spoke They 
told him of the chieftain’s message. They said they had come 
to assist him in driving his cattle back across the hills; that he 
must go. 

To all this talk in the Indian’s epigrammatic way, and in the 
dialect which has never been written, the rancher replied almost as 
briefly: ‘‘You go back and tell Drifting Crane that I like this place; 
that I’m here to stay; that I don’t want any help to drive my 
cattle. I’m on the lands of the Great Father at Washington, 
and Drifting Crane ain’t got any say about it. Now that sizes 
the whole thing up. I ain’t got anything against you nor against 
him, but I’m a settler; that’s my constitution; and now I’m settled 
I’m going to stay.” 

While the Indians discussed his words between themselves he - 
made a bed of blankets on the floor, and said: “‘I never turn any- 
body out. A white man is just as good as an Indian as long as he 
behaves himself as well. You can bunk here.” 

In the morning he gave them as good a breakfast as he had,— 
bacon and potatoes, with coffee and crackers. Then he shook 
hands, saying: “‘Come again. [I ain’t got anything against you; 
you've done y’r duty. Now go back and tell your chief what I’ve 


said. I’m at home every day. Good day.” 
[128] 





Drifting Crane 


The Indians smiled kindly, and drawing their blankets over 
their arms, went away toward the east. 

During April and May two or three reconnoitering parties of 
land-hunters drifted over the hills and found him out. He was 
glad to see them, for, to tell the truth, the solitude of his life was 
telling on him. The winter had been severe, and he had hardly 
caught a glimpse of a white face during the three midwinter months, 
and his provisions were scanty. 

These parties brought great news. One of them was the advance 
surveying party for a great Northern railroad, and they said a line 
of road was to be surveyed during the summer if their report was 
favorable. 

“Well, what d’ye think of it?”’ Wilson asked, with a smile. 

“Think! It’s immense!”’ said a small man in the party, whom 
the rest called Judge Balser. ‘“‘Why, they'll be a town of four 
thousand inhabitants in this valley before snow flies. We'll send 
the surveyors right over the divide next month.” 

They sent some papers to Wilson a few weeks later, which he 
devoured as a hungry dog might devour a plate of bacon. The 
papers were full of the wonderful resources of the Jim Valley. It 
spoke of the nutritious grasses for stock. It spoke of the successful 
venture of the lonely settler Wilson, how his stock fattened upon 
the winter grasses without shelter, what vegetables he grew, etc. 

Wilson was reading this paper for the sixth time one evening in 
May. He felt something touch him on the shoulder, and looked up 
to see a tall Indian gazing down upon him with a look of strange 
pride and gravity. Wilson sprang to his feet and held out his 
hand. 

“Drifting Crane, how d’e do?” 

The Indian bowed, but did not take the settler’s hand. Drift- 
ing Crane would have been called old if he had been a white man, 
and there was a look of age in the fixed lines of his powerful, strongly 


modeled face, but no suspicion of weakness in the splendid poise of 
[129] | 


The Book of the American Indian 


his broad, muscular body. There was a smileless gravity about his 
lips and eyes which was very impressive. 

“I’m glad to see you. Come in and get something to eat,” 
said, Wilson, after a moment’s pause. : 

The chief entered the cabin and took a seat near the door. He 
took a cup of milk and some meat and bread silently, and ate while 
listening to the talk of the settler. 

“TI don’t brag on my biscuits, chief, but they eat, if a man is 
hungry. An’ the milk’s all right. I suppose you’ve come to see why 
I ain’t moseying back over the divide?” 

The chief, after a long pause, began to speak in a low, slow voice, 
as if choosing his words. He spoke in broken English, of course, 
but his speech was very direct and plain and had none of these 
absurd figures of rhetoric which romancers invariably put into the 
mouths of Indians. His voice was almost lionlike in its depth, and 
yet was not unpleasant. 

““Cattleman, my young men brought me bad message from you. 
They brought your words to me, saying, he will not go away.” 

“That’s about the way the thing stands,” replied Wilson, in 
response to the question that was in the old chief’s steady eyes. “I’m 
here to stay. This ain’t your land; this is Uncle Sam’s land, and 
part of it’ll be mine as soon as the surveyors come to measure it off.” 

“Who gave it away?” asked the chief. ‘‘My people were 
cheated out of it; they didn’t know what they were doing.” 

“T can’t help that; that’s for Congress to say. That’s the 
business of the Great Father at Washington.” 

There was a look of deep sorrow in the old man’s face. At last 
he spoke again: “The cattleman is welcome; but he must go, 
because whenever one white man goes and calls it good, the others 
come. Drifting Crane has seen it far in the east twice. The white 
men come thick as the grass. They tear up the sod. They build 
houses. They scare the buffalo away. They spoil my young men 


with whisky. Already they begin to climb the eastern hills. Soon 
[130] 








! 


Drifting Crane 





they will fill the valley, and Drifting Crane and his people will be 
surrounded. The sod will all be black.” 

“IT hope you’re right,” was the rancher’s grim reply. 

“But they will not come if the cattleman go back to say the 
water is not good, there is no grass, and the Indians own the land.” 

Wilson smiled at the childish faith of the chief. ‘‘Won’t do, 
chief—won’t do. That won’t do any good. I might as well stay.” 

The chief rose. He was touched by the settler’s laugh; his eyes 
flashed; his voice took on a sterner note. “‘The white man must go!” 

Wilson rose also. He was not a large man, but he was a very 
resolute one. “I shan’t go,” he said through his clenched teeth. 

It was a thrilling, a significant scene. It was in absolute truth 
the meeting of the modern vidette of civilization with one of the 
rear guard of retreating barbarism. Each man was a type; each 
was wrong, and each was right. The Indian as true and noble from 
the barbaric point of view as the white man. He was a warrior and 
hunter; made so by circumstances over which he had no control. 

The settler represented the unflagging energy and fearless heart 
of the American pioneer. Narrow-minded, partly brutalized by 
hard labor and a lonely life, yet an admirable figure for all that. As 
he looked into the Indian’s face he seemed to grow in height. He 
felt behind him all the weight of the millions of westward-moving 
settlers; he stood the representative of an unborn state. He took 
down a rifle from the wall, the magazine rifle, most modern of guns; 
he patted the stock, pulled the crank, throwing a shell into view. 

“You know this thing, chief?” 

The Indian nodded slightly. 

“Well, Pll go when—this—is—empty.” 

“But my young men are many.” 

“So are the white men—my brothers.” 

The chief’s head dropped forward. Wilson, ashamed of his 
boasting, put the rifle back on the wall. 


*T’m not here to fight. You can kill me any time. You could 
[131] 


The Book of the American Indian 


’a’ killed me to-night, but it wouldn’t do any good. It ’ud only 
make it worse for you. Why, they’ll be a town in here bigger’n 
all your tribe before two grass from now. It ain’t no use, Drifting 
Crane; it’s got to be. You an’ I can’t help n’r hinder it.” 

Drifting Crane turned his head and gazed out on the western 
sky, still red with the light of the fallen sun. His face was rigid as 
bronze, but there was a dreaming, prophetic look in his eyes. A 
lump came into the settler’s throat; for the first time in his life he 
got a glimpse of the infinite despair of the Indian. He forgot that 
Drifting Crane was the representative of a “‘vagabond race”; 
he saw in him, or rather felt in him, something almost magnetic. 
He was a man; and a man of sorrows. The settler’s voice was 
husky when he spoke again, and his lips trembled. 

“Chief, ’'d go to-morrow if it ’ud do any good, but it won’t 
—not a particle. You know that when you stop to think a minute. 
What good did it do to massacree all them settlers at New Ulm? 
What good will it do to murder me and a hundred others? Nota 
bit. A thousand others would take our places. So I might just as 
well stay, and we might just as well keep good friends. Killin’ is 
out o’ fashion; don’t do any good.” 

There was,a twitching about the stern mouth of the Indian chief. 
He understood all too well the irresistible logic of the pioneer. He 
kept his martial attitude, but his broad chest heaved painfully, and 
his eyes grew dim. At last he said, “Good-by. Cattleman right; 
Drifting Crane wrong. Shake hands. Good-by.” He turned and 
strode away. 

“This is all wrong,” muttered the settler. ‘“‘There’s land 
enough for us all, or ought to be. I don’t understand— Well, Pll 
leave it to Uncle Sam, anyway.”’ He ended with a sigh. 


[132] 


THE STORY OF 
HOWLING WOLFE 


THE STORY OF HOWLING WOLF 


Wi cs two weeks after Captain Cook took charge of 
the Snake River Agency his native policemen reported 
that fifteen of his people had crossed the reservation 
line on their way to the Wind River Country. 

“Where have they gone?” 

“They gone to see it—their Ghost Dance Saviour,” explained 
Claude, the agency interpreter. 

“Who have gone?” 

Claude rapidly ran over the names, and ended with “Howling 
Wolf.” 

“Howling Wolf? Who is he? He isn’t on the rolls. I don’t 
know anything about him.” 

**He head man of Lizard Creek Camp.” 

“Why isn’t he on the rolls?” 

“He don’t get it—no rations.” 

“Why not?” 

“He is angry.” 

“Angry? What about?” 

Out of a good deal of talk the agent secured this story. Seven 
years before, a brother of Howling Wolf, a peaceful old man, was 
sitting on a hilltop (near the road) wrapped in evening medita- 
tion. His back was toward a white man’s cabin not far away 
and he was looking at the sunset. His robe was drawn closely 
round him, and his heart was at peace with all the world, for 
he was thinking that the way is short between him and the 
Shadow Land. 

A couple of cowboys came out of the door of the cabin and one 


pointed at the meditating man with derisive gestures. The other 
[135] 





The Book of the American Indian 





drew his revolver and said, ““See me knock the hat off the old 
fool.” 

As he fired the old man sprang to his feet with a convulsive leap, 
the blood streaming over his face. Numbed by the shock and 
blinded with his own blood, he ran frenziedly and without design 
toward the miscreant who shot him, and so on over the hill toward 
Howling Wolf’s camp. 

Springing to their horses the two ruffians galloped away with 
desperate haste. 

It was well they did so, for an hour later nothing remained of 
the ranch but a heap of smoking embers. A hundred angry red men 
had swept back over the hill—swift to avenge the madness of old 
Medicine Crow. 

The old man was not killed, he lived for more than a year after 
the wound, but he was never quite himself and when he died Howl- 
ing Wolf made a solemn declaration of war against the white 
cattlemen and could not be convinced that the cowboys meant 
merely to frighten and not to kill his brother. He lived in the hope 
of some time meeting those men. No one had seen them but David 
Big Nose, who had been to the white settlement that day, had met 
the fugitives, and was able to describe them very well and every 
word of his description burned itself into Howling Wolf’s memory. 
Thereafter on all his excursions among the whites his eyes were ever 
seeking, his ears ever listening. He never for an instant lost hope of 
revenge. 

He withdrew from all friendly association with the whites. He 
was sullen, difficult to deal with and in the end became a powerful 
influence in checking the progress of the Shi-an-nay along the white 
man’s road. The agent took little pains to help him clear away his 
doubts and hates, and so it was that Claude, the interpreter, ended 
by saying, “‘and so Howling Wolf no send children to school—no 
take it rations, and never comes to agency—never.”’ 


Captain Cook sat down and wrote a telegram to the agent of 
[136] 


wrenmcneresrs «erase roman 





The Story of Howling Wolf 


the Sho-sho-nee, saying, “‘Fifteen of my people are gone without 
leave to visit the Messiah. If they come into your reservation 
arrest them and send them back at once.” 

Some days later the Wind River agent replied: ‘‘Eleven of your 
Indians came in here—I’ve sent them home. Four went round me 
to the west. Probably they have gone into the Twin Lake Country, 
where the Messiah is said to be.” 

Some weeks later Big Bear, the policeman, came in with the 
second announcement, “‘Howling Wolf come.” 

“You tell Howling Wolf I want to see him,” said Cook. “Tell 
him I want to talk with him, say to him I am his friend and that I 
want to talk things over.” 

Two days later, as he sat at his desk in his inner office, the 
captain heard the door open and close, and when he looked up, a 
tall, handsome but very sullen red man was looking down upon 
ine. = 

“How!”’ called Cook, pleasantly, extending his hand. 

The visitor remained as motionless as a bronze statue of hate, 
his arms folded, his figure menacing. His eyes seemed to search 
the soul of the man before him. 

“How—how!” called Cook again. ‘“‘Are you deaf? What’s 
the matter with you? How!” 

At this the chief seized the agent’s hand and began shaking it 
violently, viciously. It was his crippled arm and Cook was soon 
tired of this horseplay. 

“That'll do, stop it! Stop it, I say. Stop it or by the Lord I'll 
smash your face,” he cried, seizing a heavy glass inkstand. He was 
about to strike his tormentor, when the red man dropped his hand. 

Angry and short of breath the agent stepped to the door. 

““Claude, come in here. Who is this man? What’s the matter 
with him?” 

“That Howling Wolf,” replied the interpreter, with evident 


fear. 
[137] 


The Book of the American Indian 


Cook was enlightened. He turned with a beaming smile. 
“Howling Wolf, how de do? I’m glad to see you.” And then to 
Claude: “You tell him my arm is sick and he mustn’t be so hearty 
with his greetings. Tell him I want to have a long talk with him 
right off—but I’ve got some papers to sign and I can’t do it now. 
Tell him to come to-morrow morning.” 

They shook hands again, ceremoniously this time, and Howling 
Wolf withdrew in dignified reserve. 

After he went away Cook informed himself thoroughly concern- 
ing the former agent’s treatment of Howling Wolf and was ready 
next morning for a conference. 

As he walked into the yard about nine o’clock the agent found 
fifteen or twenty young men of Howling Wolf’s faction lounging 
about the door of the office. They were come to see that their leader 
was not abused—at least such was Cook’s inference. 

He was irritated but did not show it. ‘“‘Go out of the yard!” 
he said quietly. “I don’t want you here. Claude will tell you all 
you want to know.” He insisted and, though they scowled sullenly, 
they obeyed, for he laid his open palm on the breast of the tallest 
of them and pushed him to the gate. “Come, go out—you’ve no 
business here.” 

Claude was shaking with fear, but regained composure as the 
young men withdrew. 

As they faced Howling Wolf in the inner office, Cook said, “‘ Well 
now, Wolf, I want you tell me just what is the matter? I am your 
friend and the friend of all your people. Iam a soldier and a soldier 
does his duty. My duty is to see that you get your rations and 
that no one harms you. Now what is the trouble?”’ | 

Howling Wolf mused a while and then began to recount his 
grievances one by one. His story was almost exactly as rt had been 
reported by others. » 

The other agent had sworn at him and once had kicked at him— 


“for which I will kill him’—he added with quiet menace. “He 
[138] 











































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































An Indian Trapper 


This Indian trapper depicted by Remington may be a 
Cree, or perhaps a Blackfoot, whom one was apt to run 
across tn the Selkirk Mountains, or elsewhere on the plains 
of the British Territory, or well up north in the Rockies, 
toward the outbreak: of the Civil War. 


Illustration from 
SOME AMERICAN RIDERS 
by Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A. 


Originally published in 
Harper’s Maaazine, May, 1891 

















A Questionable Companionship 


In frontier days when the white man and the Indian met 
on a lonely trail it was natural for them to watch each 
other with suspicion as they rode side by side. To both the 
companionship seemed questionable, until finally some 
words of the red man convinced the white man that his 
companion was trustworthy. After that there were a 
sharing of food or water or tobacco and an admixture of 
comfort to the companionship. 


Illustration from 
A QUESTIONABLE COMPANIONSHIP 


Originally published in 
Harper’s WEEKLY, August 9, 1890 


a 


The Story of Howling Wolf 


has tried to steal away my children to teach them white man’s ways. 
I don’t want them to learn white man’s ways. White man lie, and 
steal and quarrel. Then the agent cut off my rations which are a 
part of our treaty and I was hungry. For all this I am angry at 
white men.” 

When he had finished the agent said, “‘You’re all wrong, How!l- 
ing Wolf. Some white men are bad, but many are good and want to 
do the Indian good. I am one of those who are set aside by the 
Great Father to see that your rights are secured. You may depend 
onme. Go ask Red Beard, Wolf Voice, or White Calf, they will tell 
you the kind of manI am. I’m going to be your friend whether you 
are my friend or not. I want you to come and see me. I want you 
to draw your rations and be friends with me. Will you do it? I 
want you to think about this to-night and come and see me again.” 

For fully five minutes Howling Wolf sat thinking deeply with 
his eyes on the floor. His lips twitched occasionally and his broad 
breast heaved with profound emotion. It was hard to trust the 
white man even when he smiled, for his tongue had ever been forked 
like the rattlesnake and his hand exceedingly cunning. His deeds 
also were mysterious. Out of the east he came and monstrous 
things followed him—canoes that belched flame and thunder, iron 
horses that drew huge wagons, with a noise like a whirlwind. They 
brought plows that tore the sod, machines that swept away the 
grass. Their skill was diabolical. They all said, “dam Injun,” 
and in those words displayed their hearts. They desolated, up- 
rooted and transformed. They made the red men seem like chil- 
dren and weak women by their necromancy. Was there no end to 
their coming? Was there no elear sky behind this storm? What 
mighty power pushed them forward? 

And yet they brought good things. They brought sugar and 
flour and strange fruits. They knew how to make pleasant drinks 
and to raise many grains. They were not all bad. They were like 


a rainstorm which does much harm and great good also. Besides, 
[139] 


The Book of the American Indian 


here was this smiling man, his agent, waiting to hear what he had 
to say. 

At last he was able to look up, and though he did not smile, his 
face was no longer sullen. He rose and extended his hand. “I 
will do as you say. I will go home and think. I will come to see 
you again and I will tell you all my mind.” 

When he came two days later he met the agent with a smile. 
“How! My friend—How!” he said pleasantly. 

The agent took him to his inner office where none might hear 
and made the sign “Be seated.” 

Howling Wolf sat down and began by saying, “‘I could not come 
yesterday, for I had not yet finished thinking over your words. 
When night came I did as you said. I lay alone in my tepee look- 
ing up at a star just above and my thoughts were deep and calm. 
You are right, Howling Wolf is wrong. Nobody ever explained 
these things to me before. All white men said, ‘Go here,’ ‘Do that,’ 
‘Don’t go there,’ ‘Don’t do that,’—they never explained and I did 
not understand their reasons for doing so. No white man ever shook 
hands with me like a friend. They all said, ‘Dam Injun’—all 
Shi-an-nay know those words. You are not so. You are a just 
man—everybody tells me so. I am glad of this. It makes my 
heart warm and well. I have taken on hope for my people once 
more. I had a heart of hate toward all the white race—now all 
that is gone. It is buried deep under the ground. I want to be 
friends with all the world and I want you to make me a paper— 
will you do it?” 

“Certainly,” replied the agent. “What shall it be?” 

The old man rose and with deep solemnity dictated these words 
to be mysteriously recorded in the white man’s wonderful tablet: 

“Say this: I am Howling Wolf. Long I hated the white man. 
Now my heart is good and I want to make friends with all white 
men. I want to work with a plow and live in a house like the white 


man. These are my words. Howling Wolf.” 
[140] 


ee oe a 


oS ta ET 


The Story of Howling Wolf 


To this the old man put his sign: and as he folded the paper and 
put it away in his pouch, he said, “This shall be a sign to all men. 
This paper I will show to all Shi-an-nay and to all the white 
men. It will tell them that my heart is made good.” 

And he went out with the glow of good cheer upon his face. 


II 


-Now Howling Wolf -was a chief. He had never lifted a heavy 
burden in his life—though others of the Shi-an-nay came often to 
the Agency farmer for work. They enjoyed freighting and when- 
ever there were hides to go to the distant railway or goods to be 
fetched, the agent employed them and, though their ponies were 
small and shifty, they managed, nevertheless, to do creditable 
work with them. They cut wood and made hay and mended 
bridges cunningly and well. Howling Wolf had kept away from 
all this work. He did not believe in it. 

Two days after his talk with the agent the clerk was amazed to 
see Howling Wolf drive down to the warehouse to secure a load of 
hides. He had no wagon of his own, but he had hired one of his 
son-in-law, Painted Feather, and was prepared to do his share. 
In the glow of his new peace he wished to do more than his share. 
He helped everybody to load and waited till the last, willing to take 
what was left. 

The agent, hearing of this zeal of his convert, came down to see 
him and smilingly asked, “Why work so hard, Howling Wolf?” 

“T will tell you,” said Howling Wolf. “In my evil days I took 
no part in making the fences and laying the bridges—now I want to 
catch up. Therefore I must work twice as hard as anyone else.” 

“Howling Wolf, you do me honor,” said the agent. “I shake | 
your hand. You are now safely on the white man’s road.” 

To this Howling Wolf only said, “My heart is very good to-day, 
I am happy and I go to see the white man’s big camp. I shall 


keep my eyes open and learn many good things.” 
[141] 


The Book of the American Indian 


The teams laden with their skins had just passed the big red 
jaws of Bitterwood Cafion when a party of cowboys overtook them. 

“Hello there,” yelled one big fellow. “Where you going with 
those hides?”’ 

Howling Wolf heard the curses, but his heart was soft -with 
newborn love for his enemies and he smilingly greeted his foes. 
“How! how!” 

“See the old seed grin. Let’s shoot him up a few and see him 
hustle.” 

“Oh come along, let ’em alone, Bill,”’ sid one of the other men. 

“That’s old Howling Wolf,” put in the third man. “Better let 
him be. He’s a fighter.” 

“Are you old Howling Wolf?” asked Bill, riding alongside. 

Howling Wolf nodded and smiled again—though he understood 
only his name. 

“Fighter, are you?”’ queried the cowboy. “Eat men up— 
hey?” 

“How, how!” repeated the old man as pleasantly as he was 
able, though his eyes were growing stern. 

“Yd like to hand him out a package just for luck. He’s too 
good-natured. What say?” 

“Oh, come along Bill,’ urged his companions. As they rode by 
the next wagon, wherein sat a younger man, Bill called out, “Get 
out o’ the road!” 

“Go to hell!’ replied the driver, Harry Turtle, a Carlisle stu- 
dent. “You are a big fool.” 

Bill drew his revolver and spurred his horse against Harry’s 
off pony and bawled, “Id cut your hide into strips for a cent!” 

Harry rose in his wagon and uttered a cry of warning which 
stopped every team, and his eyes flamed in hot anger. “You go!” 
he said, “or we will kill you.” The cowboys drew off, Brindle 
Bill belching imprecations, but his companions were genuinely 


alarmed and rode between him and the wagons and in this way pre- 
[142] 


The Story of Howling Wolf 


vented an outbreak. Howling Wolf reproved young Turtle and 
said: ““Do not make any reply to them. We must be careful not 
to anger the white men.” | 

They reached the railway safely and, having unloaded their 
freight, went into camp about a half mile from the town on the 
river flat beneath some cottonwood trees. 

To every white man that spoke to him Howling Wolf replied 
pleasantly and was very happy to think he was serving the agent 
and also earning some money. The citizens were generally con- 
temptuous of him, and some of them refused his extended hand, 
but he did not lay that up against them. It had been long since 
he had seen a white man’s town and he was vastly interested in 
everything. He was amazed at the stores of blankets and saddles 
and calico which he saw. He looked at the gayly painted wagons 
with envy, for he had no wagon of his own and he saw that to 
travel on the white man’s road a wagon was necessary. He looked 
at harnesses also with covetous eyes. Every least thing had value 
to him, the pictures on the fences, on the peach cans, on the tobacco 
boxes, the pumps, the horse troughs and fountains—nothing escaped 
his eager eyes. He was like a boy again. 

He was standing before a shop window lost in the attempt to 
understand the use of all the marvelous things he saw there, when a 
saloon door opened and a party of loud-talking white men came out. 
He turned his head quickly and perceived the three cowboys who 
had passed him on the road. They recognized him also and their 
leader swaggered up to him, made reckless with drink, and began 
to abuse him. 

“So you’re Howling Wolf, are ye? Big chief. Drink blood. 
Why I’d break you in two pieces for a leatherette. I’m Brindle 
Bill, you understand, I’d a killed you on the road only ts 

Howling Wolf again understood only the curses, but he turned a 
ealm face upon his enemy and extended his hand. “How? How, 
white man?” 





[143] 


The Book of the American Indian 


Bill spat into his hand. 

Quick as a flash Howling Wolf slapped the ruffian’s face. 
“Coyote!” he cried in his own tongue. 

The cowboy jerked his revolver from its holster, but Howling 
Wolf leaped behind a signpost and the bullet, going wild, glanced 
from an iron rod and entered the knee of a man who stood in the 
doorway of the saloon. With a scream of terror he fell flat on the 
walk as if killed. 

Instantly the peaceful street became a place of savage outcry. 

“Kill him! Kill the red devil!” shouted a dozen who knew 
nothing of what had happened, except that a man was shot and an 
Indian was present. 

Like a bear at bay, Howling Wolf faced his hereditary enemies. 
“I am peaceful. I have done nothing,” he called, jerking a paper 
from his pocket. “See, this is true, read it!” 

The paper saved his life, for all were curious to see what this 
long official envelope contained. It occurred to one of the men in 
the circle to investigate. . 

“Hold on, boys! Wait a minute! This may be a courier. Be 
quiet now till I see.” 

He took the envelope and opened the paper while the crowd 
waited. “Read it Lannon.” 

Lannon read in a loud voice: “J am Howling Wolf. Long I 
hated the white man. Now my heart is good.” 

A burst of derisive laughter interrupted the reader. 

SORSIS 1617 

** Kall the old fool for luck!” 

“Lynch him.” 

But, though they laughed at it, the letter cooled the excitement 
of the crowd, and when the sheriff came he had no trouble in arrest- 
ing Howling Wolf, who went willingly, for he feared for his life in 
the face of the crowd in the street—which grew greater each moment. 


He recoiled sharply as they came to the door of the jail. He knew 
[144] 


The Story of Howling Wolf 


what that meant. “I will not go!” he said. “Why do you put me 
in there? I have done nothing.” 

The sheriff, ready to make capital for himself in the eyes of the 
mob which had followed him, put his revolver to his captive’s head 
and said brutally: 

“Git in there or Ill blow your head off.” 

Wolf understood the man’s action, and, fearing the crowd which 
followed, submitted to be pushed into the cell and was locked in. 
He still held in his hand the document which had been con- 
temptuously thrust back upon him, and now sat half-stunned by 
the sudden fury of the white men toward him. That the three cow- 
boys should make trouble did not surprise him—but that all the 
white men should run toward him with angry faces and armed 
fists appalled and embittered him. Perhaps there were only a few 
friendly white men after all. Perhaps the agent was mistaken 
and the Shi-an-nay must war to the death with these infuriated 
cattlemen. 

“I did wrong to come here,” he thought. “I should have 
remained deep in my own country among the rocks and the coyotes. 
I have put myself into the hands of my deadly enemies. [I shall die 
here alone, because I have been a child and have listened to sweet 
words.” 

Meanwhile grossly distorted accounts of the affair passed from 
saloon to barber shop and at last it took this shape: “A gang of 
drunken reds had struck Hank Kelly for a drink and when he 
refused one of them shot him in the stomach. All escaped but one, 
old Howling Wolf, one of the worst old reprobates that ever lived. 
He ought to be lynched and we'll do it yet.” 

Bill the cowboy was a hero. He swaggered about saying, “I 
had him in a hole. I winged him so’t sheriff had him easy.” 

Ultimately he grew too drunk to throw any light on the subject 
at all and his companions took him and fled the town, leaving 


Howling Wolf to bear the weight of the investigation. 
[145] 


The Book of the American Indian 





Harry Turtle went to the sheriff and said abruptly: “I want 
see Howling Wolf.” 

“You can’t see him,” replied the sheriff. 

“Why can’t I see him?”’ 

“Because I say so. Get out o’ here . . . The whole tribe of ye 
ought to be wiped out. Guit—or Ill put you where the dogs can 
eat ye.” 

Turtle went away with a face dark with anger. He said to his 
companions, “I must go back to the agent at once to tell him what 
has happened. You better all keep together with me so if the cow- 
boys try to kill us we can defend ourselves. Come, let us go.” 

They went out into the darkness and traveled all night very 
hard, and when morning came they were out of danger. 

When Turtle entered the agent’s office late next day he showed 
little sign of what he had been through. 

“Hello, Harry, I thought you went to town?” 

“TI did. I got back. Heap trouble come.” 

*What’s matter?”’ 

“Cowboy fight Howling Wolf—Howling Wolf fight, too. White 
man get killed. Howling Wolf in calaboose. I come quick to tell 
you.” 

Cook grew grave. “Is that so, where are the other men?” 

“Outside.” 

“Bring ’em in, Claude,” he said to his interpreter. “‘ You talk 
with these people and find out what it is all about.” 

In the end he ordered his team and with Claude drove away to 
town, a long, hard, dusty road. He reached the hotel that night 
too late to call on the sheriff and was forced to wait till morning. 
The little rag of a daily paper had used the shooting as a text for 
its well-worn discourse. “Sweep these marauding fiends out of the 
State or off the face of the earth,” it said editorially. “‘Get them out 
of the path of civilization. Scenes of disorder like that of yesterday 


are sure to be repeated so long as these red pets of the Government 
[146] 


The Story of Howling Wolf 


are allowed to cumber the earth. The State ought to slaughter 
them like wolves.” 

Cook read this with a flush of hot blood in his face. He was 
quite familiar with such articles, but he went to bed that night 
feeling more keenly than ever in his life the difficult position he was 
called upon to fill. To race hatred these people had added greed 
for the Shi-an-nay lands. In this editorial was vented the savage 
hate of thousands of white men. There could be no doubt of it— 
and were it not for a fear of the general government the terms of its 
hatred would have been carried out long ago. 

In the early morning he took Claude and went to the jail. 

The sheriff met him suavely. ‘‘Oh—certainly captain—you 
can see him,” he said, but his tone was insulting. 

When the agent and his interpreter entered his cell Howling 
Wolf looked up with a low cry of pleasure. He took Cook’s hand 
in both of his and said slowly: 

“My friend, take me away from here. I cannot bear to be 
locked up. I have done nothing. When I showed my paper the 
cattlemen laughed. When I reached my hand in friendship they 
spat upon it. This made my heart very bitter but I did not fight.” 

When he had secured Wolf’s story in detail, the Major said, 
*Do not worry, Wolf, I will see that you are released.” 

To the sheriff he said: ““What are you holding this man for?”’ 

“For shooting with intent to kill.” 

“But he didn’t shoot. He had no weapon. It is absurd.” 

“How do you know he didn’t?” 

“Because all his companions say so; he says so.” 

“Oh! You'd take his word would you?” 

“Yes in a thing of that kind. Did you find a gun on him?” 

*“No—but—”’ 

“What chance did he have for concealing it? Were you there 
when the shooting took place?”’ 


*““No—but credible witnesses 
[147] 


93 





The Book of the American Indian 


**As a matter of fact the saloon keeper was struck by a bullet 
aimed at Howling Wolf by a cowboy. Where is that cowboy? 
Why has he not been arrested?” 

“T don’t believe it. You'll take “s 

“It’s not your business to believe or disbelieve. Did you have 
a warrant to arrest Wolf?”’ asked the captain sternly. 

*“No matter whether I did or not,” replied the sheriff insolently, 
“he’s here and you can’t take him away. You can protect your 
thieves and murderers in the reservation, but when they come in 
here and go howling around you'll find the case different.” In this 
tone he blustered. 

The captain was firm. “I believe Wolf to be entirely innocent 
and I'll see justice done.” He called Claude again and said, “Tell 
Howling Wolf to be quiet—tell him not to be scared. He’ll have to 
remain in jail till I can get a release. I’m going to see the judge 
now. ‘Tell him [’m his friend and I won’t let these people harm 
him.” 

The visit to the judge was still more disheartening. He, too, was 
suave and patient, but it was plain he intended to do nothing to 
help the agent. “It may be that a mistake has occurred, but if so 
the trial will clear your man. As it is the Indian is arrested in a 
street brawl in which a man is shot. The Indian is arrested, I may 
add, in due course of law and must stand trial.” 

“Very well, we'll go to trial—but meanwhile release my man on 
parole. Ill answer for him.” 

The judge had been expecting this, but professed to ponder. 
“T don’t think that would be wise. We've had great difficulty in 
apprehending offenders. We might find this man hard to reappre- 
hend. I appreciate your desire to sd 

“Judge Bray, you are mistaken,” replied Cook with heat, for 
he understood the covert insult. “You have never failed of getting 
your man but once, and then, as you know, it was the fault of your 


sheriff. Where could this man go? I know every man on my 
[148] 








The Story of Howling Wolf 


reservation. He could not hide out on the hills, and he would be a 
marked man on any other reservation. Besides all these considera- 
tions—I know Howling Wolf. I am peculiarly anxious to have him 
released till his trial. He dreads confinement—he feels his arrest 
as an injustice and it will embitter him. More than this I have 
pledged my word to him to secure his release.” 

The judge was obdurate. “‘The citizens are incensed at the 
frequent depredations of your charges,”’ he said, “‘and they will not 
submit longer to any laxity. I cannot help you.” 

The agent rose grimly. “Very well, Dll see justice done this 
man if I bring the whole power of the department to bear on you. 
I will enlist the aid of every lover of justice in the country. Howling 
Wolf has been abused. So far from shooting he came in here as my 
messenger unarmed and peaceful. Your drunken citizens assaulted 
him. I do not wonder that my people say you have the hearts of 
coyotes.” 

As Cook drove away out of the squalid town he felt as he had 
several times before—the cruel, leering, racial hate of the border 
man, to whom the red man is big game. He had a feeling that, 
among all these thousands of American citizens, not one had the 
heart to stand out and say, “Ill help you secure justice.” 

His heat made him momentarily unjust, for there were many 
worthy souls, even in this village, who would have joined him could 
they have been made intimately informed of the case. At the 
moment he felt the helpless dismay of the red man when enmeshed 
by the laws of the whites. 

But he was not a man to yield a just position without a struggle. 
As he rode he planned a campaign which should secure justice for 
Howling Wolf. His meeting with the half-frenzied wife of the 
captive only added new vigor to his resolution. With face haggard 
with suffering the poor woman cried out to him, “Where is he—my 
husband?” 


He gave her such comfort as he could and drove on mentally 
[149] 


The Book of the American Indian 


writing letters, which should make the townsmen writhe with shame 
of their inhumanity. 

Court did not sit for many weeks, but Howling Wolf knew 
nothing of that. He lived in daily hope of being released. He fed 
his heart on the words of his friend the agent. He brooded over his 
wrongs like a wounded wolf in his den, till his heart became bitter in 
his bosom. The glow of his new found love of the white man had 
died out—smothered by the cold gloom of his prison. He remem- 
bered only one white face with pleasure—that of his agent. All 
others were grinning or hateful or menacing. 

He would have gone mad but for the visits of his wife and 
children who came to see him and were allowed to approach the bars 
of his cell so that he might lay his hands on the head of his little 
son. These brief visits comforted him—for the sake of his wife and 
children he lived. 

In a week or two the people of Big Snake had quite forgotten 
Howling Wolf. If any word recalled him to their minds they‘ 
merely said, ““Do him good to feel the inside of a stone wall. It'll 
take the fight out of him. He'll be good Injun once he gets out. 
He’s in luck to escape being strung up.” 

Now the town possessed a baseball team that had defeated 
every other club in the State, excepting one. St. Helen’s had 
proved a Waterloo to Big Snake on the Fourth of July and so its 
citizens fairly ached for a chance to “do St. Helen’s up,” and win 
back some of the money they had lost. 

One morning about two weeks after his imprisonment Howling 
Wolf’s keen ears caught the sound of far-off drums and he wondered 
if the soldiers were coming at last to release him. His heart leaped 
with joy and he sprang to his feet vigorous, alert, and so listened 
long. He could hear plainly the voice of the bugle and he fancied 
he could detect the marching of columned feet. His friend, the 
agent, was coming to punish his captors. 


He was not afraid of the soldier chiefs. They fought honor- 
[150] 


The Story of Howling Wolf 


ably. They did not shut their enemies up in cells and take their 
arms away. They made war in the open air and on the hills. A 
shout of joy was about to break from his lips when the jailer entered 
the corridor much excited. He talked as he came, “I'll take the 
red-skin along—anyhow.” 

He made a great many signs to his captive, but Howling Wolf 
only understood one or two of them. “Come with me,” and “I'll 
kill you.” 

He drew his blanket round him and thought. “I will go. I will 
at least escape these walls. If I die I will die under the sky where 
the sun can see me.” 

He quietly followed the sheriff outside, but when he saw the 
handcuffs he rebelled and shook his head. 

The sheriff made bungling signs again and said, “All right—but 
if you try to run away I'll bore a hole in ye big as a haystack—that’s 
all. I won’t stand any funny business.” 

~ Howling Wolf comprehended nothing of all this save the motion 
toward the gun, which he took to mean that he was to be killed. 
The excitement of his captor, the mystery of all he did, his threaten- 
ing gestures were convincing. But Howling Wolf was a chief. He 
had never flinched in battle and as he felt the wind of the wide sky 
on his face he lifted his head and said in his heart: 

“Tf I am to die, Iam ready; but I will die fighting.” 

The sheriff motioned him to get into his buggy and he obeyed— 
for the hand of the sherff was on his revolver—and they rode 
through the town, which was almost deserted. Far up the street 
Howling Wolf could hear the noise of the drum and his heart swelled 
big with a sense of coming trouble. Was he being led out to be 
tortured? Perhaps he would be permitted to fight his way to death? 
“No matter—I am ready.” 

» Amanat the door of the drug store called jovially: 
“Where are you going, Mr. Sheriff?”’ 
“Out to see the ball game. I happened to have only this one 
[151] 


Pe aaa 


The Book of the American Indian 


prisoner so thought I’d take him along. Blowed if I’m going to 
miss the game for a greasy buck-Injun.”’ 

‘Look out he don’t give you the slip.” 

The sheriff winked meaningly. “There'll be a right lively fox 
hunt if he does. The boys would like nothing better than to rope 
an Injun to-day. It would draw better than a bullfight.” 

They both laughed at this notion and Howling Wolf seized 
upon the menace in the sheriff’s voice though his words were elusive. 
As they neared the grand stand the noise of the great crowd reached 
across the quiet fields and Howling Wolf saw hundreds of people 
streaming along the road before him. His limbs grew tense. It was 
plain that his captor was driving directly toward this vast throng 
of savage white people. 

He looked round him. On either side were rows of growing 
corn and beyond the field on the right was the grove of trees which 
marked the course of the river. As he remembered this his final 
resolution came. “If I am to die I will die now,” and he sprang 
from his seat to the ground and dived beneath the wire fence. He 
heard the sheriff’s gun crack twice and thrice, but he rose unhurt 
and with a wild exuliation in his heart ran straight toward the river. 
Again the sheriff fired, his big revolver sounding loud in the wind- 
less air. | 


Then, as if his shooting were a signal, a squad of cowboys rose 


out of a gully just before the fugitive, and with wild whoopings 
swept toward him. They came with lariats swinging high above 
their heads, and Howling Wolf, knowing well their pitiless ferocity, 


turned and ran straight toward the sheriff, who stood loading his | 


gun on the inside of the fence. As he ran Howling Wolf could see 
great ranks of yelling people rushing over the field. He ran now to 
escape being dragged to death, hoping the sheriff might shoot him 
through the heart as he came near. 

The officer shot twice at long range but missed, and, as the 


panting red man ran straight toward him the sheriff fell to the earth 
[152] 















: 
‘ 
‘ 
F 
. 


The Arrest of the Scout 


Suspected of having kidnaped an Indian girl and mur- 
dered her mother, this man was traced to a tiswin camp, 

where he was found carousing with other drinkers. Though 
a member of their own corps, his brother scouts, after dis- 
arming and binding him, brought him back to the post, 
where he was lodged in the guard-house. 


Illustration from 
MASSAI’S CROOKED TRAIL 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Harrer’s Maaazine, January, 1898 


An Indian Duel 


The Indian on the pinto pony is armed with a big buffalo- 
lance, while his opponent wields a skin-knife. As depicted 
by the artist the buffalo-lance is being driven clean through 


his antagonist’s shoulder. 


Illustration from 
SUN-DOWN LEFLARE’S WARM SPOT 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
HARPER’s MAGAZINE, September, 1898 











The Story of Howling Wolf 


and crawled away, leaving Howling Wolf to face a squad of twenty 
infuriated cowboys and a thousand citizens just behind on foot. 
With the light of hell on their faces they shot down the defenseless 
man and then alighted, and, with remorseless hate, crushed his 
face beneath their feet as if he were a rattlesnake. They stabbed 
his dead body and shot it full of bullets. They fought for a chance 
to kick him. They lost all resemblance to men. Wolves fighting 
over the flesh of their own kind could not have been more heart- 
lessly malevolent—more appalling in their ferocity. 

In the clamor of their breathless cursing and cries of hate a 
strong clear voice made itself heard—a vibrant manly voice: 

“Srop, an the name o’ Christ!”” And through the wolfish mass a 
tall young man in the garb of a Catholic priest forced his way. His 
big, broad face was set with resolution and his brow gleamed white 
in the midst of the tumbling mass of bronzed weather-beaten 
border men. 

**Stand back! Are you fiends of hell? Where is your shame? 
A thousand to one! Is this your American chivalry? Oh, you 
cowards!”’ 

He stood above the fallen man like a lion over the body of 
his mate. His voice quivered with the sense of his horror and 
indignation. 

-“God’s curse on ye if you touch this man again.” The crowd 
was silent now and the priest went on: “I have seen the beasts of 
the African jungles at war and I know the habits of the serpents of 
‘Nicaragua—I know your American bears and wolves, but I have 
never seen any savagery like this.” 

Every word he spoke could be heard by the mob; every man 
who listened looked aside. They were helpless under the lash of 
the young priest’s scorn. ‘You are the brave boys of whom we 
read,” he said, turning to the cowboys. “You are the Knights 
of the plains ” ‘Then his righteous wrath flamed forth again. 


“Knights of the plains! The graveyard jackals turn sweet in 
[153] 








The Book of the American Indian 


your presence. Brave men are ye to rope and drag a defenseless 
man—and you!” He turned to the slinking sheriff. “You are of 
my parish—I know you. The malediction of the church hangs 
over you for this day’s work.”’ He paused for breath; then added: 
“Take up the body of this man. He is dead but his blood will yet 
make this town a stench in the nostrils of the world. You cannot 
do these things to-day and not be condemned of all Christian 
peoples.” 

With a contemptuous wave of his hand he dismissed the mob. 
“Go home! Go back to your wives and children and boast of your 
great deed. Leave the dead with me.” 

The crowd slunk away, leaving the sheriff, the priest, and a 
doctor, who volunteered his services, to examine the bleeding 
flesh that had once been a tall and powerful red chieftain. 

“The man is alive!”’ said the doctor with a tone of awe. “Life 
is not extinct. Bring me some water.” 

“Save him—for the love of Christ!’’ exclaimed the priest as 
he dropped on his knees beside the torn and trampled red man. ‘It 
would be a miracle, a blessed miracle, if he should live. It is 
impossible!’’ 

‘His heart is beating—and I think it grows stronger,” repeated 
the doctor as he fell to work with deft energy. 

“What is this?”’ asked the priest as he picked up a bloody and 
crumpled paper. He opened it and, as he finished reading it, he 
raised his eyes and prayed silently with a sort of breathless intensity, 
while the tears ran down his cheeks: 

“Lord Jesus, grant me humbleness and patience with these 
people. Let my heart not harden with hate of this injustice.” 

Then, looking at the poor bruised body of Howling Wolf, he 
said: ‘ 

“O God, the pity of it! The pathos of it! His heart was good 
toward all men and they crushed him to earth!”’ 

They took Howling Wolf up, the priest received him in his 

[154] 


erste morrauline. Wolf 


house and cared for him and he lived—but so battered, so mis- 
‘ shapen that his own wife did not know him. 

The cloud of his hate and despair never lifted. He spoke no 
word to any white man save to the good priest and to his friend, the 
agent, and when he died neither of them knew of it. No white man 
knows where his body was hidden away. 





THE SILENT EATERS 





THE SILENT EATERS 
I 


THE BEGINNINGS OF POWER 


I was born a soldier. 
I have lived thus long. 
In despite of all, I have lived thus long. 
—Siouxz War Song. 


():: day in 1854, while the Uncapappas, a branch of my 


father’s people, were camped in pursuit of buffalo on a 
tributary of the Platte River, a half-breed scout came into 
the circle from the south, bearing a strange message. He said: “The 
great war chief of the whites is coming with beads and cloth and 
many good things. He desires all the red men to meet him in a coun- 
cil of peace. He issorry that we are at war. Therefore, he is inviting 
all your chieftains to his lodge to receive presents and to smoke.” 
Up to this time the Uncapappas had never made talk with the 
soldiers, and many, like myself, had never seen a white man. Our 
home lay to the east and north of the Black Hills, far away from con- 
tact with the settlers. Of them we had heard, but only remotely. 
Many of our own men had never seen a French trapper. Our lives 
still went on as they had been going since the earliest time. 

We followed the buffalo wherever they went within the limits of 
the hunting grounds which we claimed. On the east were our 
cousins, the Yanktonaise and Minneconjous. To the north of the 
Cannonball lived the Rees and Mandans; to the northwest, across 
the Powder River lurked the Crows, our ever-ready enemies. On 
the head waters of the Arkansaw the Utes, a powerful mountain 
people, dwelt. The Comanches and many other unknown folk held 


the country far, far to the south, while to the east lay a land more 
[159] 


The Book of the American Indian 


mysterious than any other, for it was said that both white men and 
red men claimed it and warred for the mastery of it. Of the rest 
of the world most of us knew nothing; all was dark as a cave in- 
habited by bats and serpents. 

Therefore, when the messenger had made his plea the chiefs 
called a great council to ponder this new and important matter. 
At this time the four head men, the civic chiefs, of my people, were 
The Four Horns, The Red Horn, The Running Antelope and The 
Loud-Voiced Hawk. These men had full power to call a convention 
and all the people came together obediently and some of the boys, 
like myself, crept near to listen. 

It was in early summer. The grass was new and sweet; the 
buffalo were fat, the horses swift, and each day was a feast, with 
much dancing, and we lads raced horses when the old men would 
permit. Not one of all our tribe had care as a bedfellow at this 
time. Even the aged smiled like children. 

In those days the plains were black with buffalo and the valleys 
speckled with red deer and elk, and no lodge had fear of hunger or 
frost. In winter we occupied tepees of thick warm fur with the 
edges fully banked with snow and we were not often cold. We had 
plenty of buckskin to wear and no one went unsatisfied. You would 
look long to find a people as happy as we were, because we lived as 
the Great Spirit had taught us to do, with no thought of change. 

Nevertheless, our wise men had a foreboding of coming trouble, 
and when The Hawk, who was a very old man, rose in the council 
to speak, his face was deeply troubled. Once he had been ready of 
speech, but his tongue now trembled with age and his shoulders 
weighed heavy upon his lungs, for he coughed twice before he could 
begin. 

“My friends, listen to me. I am an old man. I shall not be 
able to meet in council again. The rime of many winters has stif- 
fened my lips, but I am glad this matter has come up now. My 


heart is full of things to tell you. My children, I have had a dream. 
[160] 


The Silent Eaters 


Last night I went forth on the hill to pray and as I prayed I grew 
weary and fell asleep, and I saw a great council such as that the 
Graybeard now asks us to attend. I beheld much food and many 
blankets given away, and then a great fight began. A cloud of thick 
smoke arose. There were angry confusion and slaying and wailing 
in the midst of the smoke, so that my limbs seemed rooted to the 
ground in my fear. Now I know this dream was intended for a 
warning. Beware of those who come bringing gifts. They seek to 
betray you.” With uplifted hand he faced all the people and called 
again, very loud, “Beware of those who bring presents, for they 
will work sorrow among you.” 

Then he sank back exhausted and all the chiefs were silent, but 
The Hawk’s wife began to sing a sad song, and as she sang, one by 
one the other chiefs rose and said: “‘The Hawk is wise. We will 
not go to meet this man. We will not take his presents. He comes 
like a Comanche disguised as a wolf. We will be as cunning as he, 
Why should he offer presents unless he wishes to gain an advantage 
of us?” 

At last a young warrior, a grave man of gentle and serious face; 
stood in his place and said: ‘“‘My father, I am a young man. I 
have seen only twenty-two winters and perhaps you will not listen 
to me, but I intend to speak, nevertheless. I have always listened 
when my elders have spoken, and especially have I opened my 
ears when strangers from the East came to our lodges. Your de- 
cision is wise. It is well to have nothing to do with these deceitful 
ones. Listen now to my request. I desire to be the chief soldier in 
this matter. If you wish to oppose the givers of gifts and the policy 
which goes with their refusal, place the matter in my hands and I 
will see that your desires are carried out.” 

The firm, courageous bearing of this youth pleased the elders, 
and after deliberation they said: “It is well. We will make you 
our executive in this matter. You shall be Chief Soldier of Treaties.” 


In this way was my chief Ta-Tank-io-Tanka, The Sitting Bull, 
[161] 





The Book of the American Indian 





made what you would call “Secretary of War” over seven hundred 
lodges of my people. He had already attained rank as a valiant 
but not reckless warrior. The Rees knew him, and so did the Crows. 
He came of good family, though his father was only a minor chief. 
His uncle was Four Horns, and his grandfather, The Jumping Bull, 
was an active and powerful man whose influence undoubtedly was 
of use to the young chief. His name had never been borne by any 
other man of his tribe. At fourteen he had counted coup on a Crow. 
He had been wounded in the foot while dashing upon an enemy, 
and he still walked with a slight limp. He was active, unassuming, 
and capable of many things. 

But his fame as a peacemaker had already far outrun his renown 
as a warrior. He had been made a chief by the Ogallallahs because 
of his firm sense of justice. Only a year before this time a band of 
the young warriors of his own tribe had stolen from their cousins 
a herd of horses while the two tribes were camped side by side, and 
The Sitting Bull, having heard of this, went to the young men and 
sald: 

“We do not make reprisals upon our friends. We only take from 
our enemies,’ and thereupon had led the horses back to their owners. 

In return for this good deed the Ogallallahs had made him a chief 
among them, though he took no part in their councils. 

He was a natural leader and a persuasive orator. A chief among 
my people, you know, is a peacemaker, and The Sitting Bull was 
always gentle of voice. If he saw two men squabbling he parted 
them and said: “Do not make war among yourselves. What is. 
the matter? Tell me your dispute.” Sometimes he would say: 
“‘Here is a horse for each of you. Go and wrangle no more.” When 
he was very successful in the hunt he always went about the camp, 
and wherever a sick man or an aged woman lived, there he left a 
haunch of venison or some buffalo meat. This made him many 
friends. He did not desire riches for himself, but for his tribe. 


Therefore nearly all the tribesmen were glad when he was made 
[162] 





The Silent Eaters 


treaty chief and given the charge of all such matters. He was at 
once what the white people would call Secretary of State and of War. 

Immediately after his election he called the treaty messenger 
into his lodge and said: ‘Return to those that sent you and say 
this: ‘The Uncapappas have no need of your food or clothing. 
The hills are clouded with buffalo, the cherries are ripening in the 
thickets. When we desire any of the white man’s goods we will 
buy them. Go in peace.’”’ 

In this way the white men first heard of The Sitting Bull. 

Yes, in those wondrous days my people were many and powerful. 
The allied tribes of Sioux (as you white men call them) held all the 
land from Big Stone Lake westward to the Yellowstone River and 
south to the Platte—that is to say, all of what you call South 
Dakota, part of Wyoming, and half of Nebraska. We often went 
as far as the Rocky Mountains in our search for food, for the buffalo 
were always shifting ground. As the phantom lakes of the plain 
mysteriously appear and disappear, so they came and went. 

Where the bison were, there plenty was; we had no fear. But 
they roamed widely. For these reasons my people required much 
territory, and, though the wild cattle were many, we were sometimes 
obliged to enter the lands of our enemies to make our killing, and 
these expeditions were the causes of our wars with the Crows on the 
west and with the Comanches on the south. However, these wars 
were not long or bloody. For the most part we lived quietly, peace- 
fully, with only games to keep our sinews tense. 

In the expeditions which followed The Sitting Bull’s promotion 
he became the executive head. He was chief of police by virtue of 
his office, and his was the hand which commanded tranquillity and 
order in the camp. Whenever a messenger entered the circle the 
sentinels brought him directly to the chief’s lodge and there waited 
orders. No one thought of stepping between The Sitting Bull and 
his duties, for, though so quiet, he could be very stern. 


He laid aside all weapons—for this is the custom among the 
[163] 





The Book of the American Indian 


chiefs—and carried only his embroidered pipe-bag and his fan, 
nothing more. His face was always calm and his voice gentle. He 
seemed to have no thought of self, but spoke always of the welfare 
of his tribe. When a question came to him for decision he said: 
“This is good for my people. We will do it.” Or, ‘This is bad for 
my people. We will refuse.” He raised himself by building upon 
the welfare of his race. 

It was for this reason he refused again to meet General Harney 
in 1855 at Fort Pierre. He knew something then of the floods of 
white men pouring into Iowa and Minnesota. He had his spies out 
and was aware of every boat that came up the Missouri. He 
already possessed a well-defined policy. To every trader he said: 
“Yes, [am glad to see you. My people have skins to sell and tobacco 
and ammunition to buy. This exchange is good. Come and trade.” 
But to the messenger of the white men’s government he said: 
“I do not want your presents. My young mef earn their goods by 
hunting. We are not in need of treaty makers.” 

So it was that his fame spread among the border men and he 
came to be called a fierce warrior, ever ready to kill, when the truth 
is he protected those who came to his camp; even the spies of Wash- 
ington had reason to thank The Sitting Bull for his clemency. 

The years passed pleasantly and my tribe had little foreboding 
of danger. Our game remained plentiful and, though the rumors 
of the white man’s coming thickened, the people paid little heed to 
them, though the chiefs counciled upon it gravely. Then one day 
came the news that the Dakotas, our cousins, were at war with the 
whites. Soon after this, word came that they had been driven out 
of their land into our territory. Then it was that the Uncapappas 
first began to know the power of the invaders. I was but a lad, but 
I remember well the incredulous words of my father and mother 
when the story of the battles first were told at our fireside. The 
head men were uneasy and The Sitting Bull seemed especially 


gloomy and troubled. 
[164] 





iicusilen beaters 


In council he said: “Our brothers have been wrong. They 
should not make war upon the white man. He has many things 
that we need—guns and cloth and knives. We should be friendly 
with him. I do not make war on him, though I fear his presents 
and stop my ears to his promises. I forecast that we shall be 
pushed out.” 

The news came to us also at this time that the white men were 
fighting among themselves far to the south, but we never met any- 
one who had seen this with his own eyes. We had no clear concep- 
tion of what lay to the east of us. We only knew that the Chippewas 
lived there and many whites who were friendly with them, but no 
one of all our wise old men could tell us more. 

Once I heard the chief say: “‘I do not understand why the white 
man leaves his own land to invade ours. It must be a sad country 
with little game, and if he came here only to hunt or trade we would 
make him welcome—but I fear he comes to steal our hunting grounds 
away. If he is in need and comes peaceably, let him share our 
buffalo. There is enough to feed all the world.” 

Meanwhile the four head chiefs were growing old and lethargic, 
and so, naturally, step by step, The Sitting Bull came to be the head 
of all our band. He drew toward him all those who believed in 
living the simple life of our ancestors far away from all enemies. 
With songs and dances and feasts we marked the seasons, living 
peacefully for the most part, except now and then when a small 
party was sent out against the Crows or the Mandans, till in the 
110th mark of my father’s winter count—that is in 1869—the whites 
established a trading post at the Grand River and put some soldiers 
in it and sent out couriers to all the Sioux tribes to assemble there 
for a council. The time had come (as it afterward appeared) when 
the settlers wanted to inhabit our lands. 

This, I think, was the first time the chief clearly understood 
the attitude of the government toward him. Another day marks 


the beginning of the decline of my people. 
[165] 








The Book of the American Indian 





I remember well the coming of that messenger. I was awakened 
by the sound of a horse’s feet, and, looking out of the tepee, I saw a 
small man on a big horse—bigger than any I had ever seen before. 
Warriors were surrounding him, asking, “Who are you?” 

“Take me to The Sitting Bull,” he said, and just then the 
chief looked from his lodge and said, “‘ Bring him to me.” 

He was brought and set before The Sitting Bull, and they 
looked at each other for a time in silence. I was peering in under 
the side of the lodge and could not see the chief’s face, but the 
stranger smiled and said: “Are The Sitting Bull’s eyes getting dim 
that he does not know his old playmate?” 

“The Badger,” replied the chief. Then he smiled and they 
shook hands. ‘You are changed, my friend; you were but a boy 


when we played at hunting in The Cave Hills.” 
“That is true,” reohea the man, who was a French half-breed. 


“T do not blame you for looking at me with blind eyes. I would 
not have known you. I have a message for you.” 

“Bring food for our brother,” commanded the chief, and after 
The Badger had eaten the chief said, “Now tell me whence you 
come and why are you here?” 

“That is a long tale,” said The Badger. “It is a story you must 
think about.” 

And so for three days The Badger sat before the chief and they 
talked. And each night the camp muttered gravely, discussing the 
same question. The chief’s face grew sterner each day. He smoked 
long and there were times when his eyes rested on the ground in 
a silence of deep thought while The Badger told of the mighty 
white man—of his wonderful deeds, of his armies, of his iron horses, 
of all these things which we afterward saw for ourselves. He went 
farther. He told us of the white man’s government which was lodged 
in a great village made of wood and stone. He said the white men 
were more numerous than the buffalo and that their horses were 


plenty as prairie dogs. “You do well, my friend, not to go to war 
[166] 





The Silent Eaters 


against these people. They are all-conquering. What can you do 
against magicians who create guns and knives and powder?” 

“I have no hate of them,” replied the chief. “All I ask is to be 
let alone.” 

“Listen, my friend. This is what the white man is doing. 
A great chief, whose name is Sheridan, followed by many warriors, 
is killing or subduing all the red people to the south. He has broken 
the Comanches; the Kiowas and Pawnees—all bend the neck to 
him. Ferocious leaders have been sent out from Washington with 
orders to gather all your race into certain small lands and there teach 
them the white man’s way. Whether they wish to do so or not does 
not matter. They must go or be blown to pieces by his guns. 
My friend, that is what they mean to do with you. They want you 
to come to the mouth of Grand River and to the Standing Rock, 
there to give up your hunting and learn the white man’s way. The 
great war chief of the whites has said it.” 

The chief’s eyes flamed. “And if I refuse?” 

“Then he will send a long line of his horsemen to fetch you.” 

The chief grimly smiled. “Hoh! Well, go back and tell them to 
come. The Sitting Bull has got along very well in the ways of his 
fathers thus far and in those ways he will continue. The land is 
wide to the west and game is plenty.” 

But The Badger then said: ‘My brother, you know me well. 
We can speak plainly. The white chief sent me, I say that now. 
He asked me to come, and I did so. I came as a friend in order that 
you might not be deceived. I tell you the truth—the white man is 
moving westward, like a feeding herd of buffalo, slow but sure. 
His heart is bitter toward us and we must keep silence before him. 
He wants all the land east of the Missouri and south of the Black 
Hills. He demands that you give it up.” 

My chief was sitting in his soldiers’ lodge; few were there. My 
father was looking in at the door and I, a lad, was beside him. 


I saw the veins swell out in the chief’s neck as he rose and spoke: 
[167] 


ee 
ees 00099999 


The Book of the American Indian 


‘My friend, out there” (he swept his hand to the west) “‘is our land, 
a big open space covered with game. Go back to your friends, the 
white men, and say that The Sitting Bull is Uncapappa and free 
to do as he wills. He chooses to live as his fathers lived. As the 
Great Spirit made him, so he is, and shall remain.” 


II 


POLICY AND COUNCIL 


NEVERTHELESS The Badger’s talk had enlightened my chief. 
He pondered deeply over his words and came at last fairly to 
understand the white man’s demands. He lived by planting; the 
red man by hunting. The pale faces said: “The red man has too 
much land. We will take part of it for ourselves. In return we will 
teach him how to plant and make bread and clothing.” But they 
did not stop there. They said if the red man does not wish to be a 
planter and wear our clothing we will send out soldiers with guns 
and make him do our will. 

The chief’s first duty was to reject these terms, and this he did; 
but a second messenger came bringing tobacco and round disks of 
bread. The chief gr-vnd the tobacco under his heel and his soldiers 
spun the bread dows the hill into the river. The emissary stood 
by and saw this merry game and was wise enough to remain silent. 

Once a courier who would not cease talking when commanded 
by the chief was whipped out of the village. So it came to be that 
this great camp on the Little Missouri was called “The Hostile 
Camp of Sitting Bull.” 

You have heard those who now deride my chief and say that 
he was no warrior, that he was a coward, a man of no account; 
but they are ignorant fools who say this. Go read in the books 
of the agent at Standing Rock; there you will find records of the 
respect and fear in which the agents of Washington held my chief 


in those days. You may read there of seven messengers who were 
[168] 


The Silent Eaters 


sent out to tell “Sitting Bull and his irreconcilables they must 
come in and disarm’’—and if you read on you will learn how these 
spies came straggling back without daring to utter one word of the 
government’s commands to my chief. 

They lied about him, the cowardly whelps, and said he threatened 
them. In truth, they sneaked into his presence and said nothing. 
In this way the agent got a false impression of the chief, and reported 
that he was at war with the whites, which was not true. 

The Sitting Bull was now both Secretary of War and commander- 
in-chief of all those who believed in the ways of the fathers. He 
drew men to him by the boldness and gentleness of his words. 
His camp was the refuge of those who declined to obey the agents 
of the white man’s government. The circle of his followers each 
year widened and his fame spread far among the white men who 
hated him for the lands he held. 

But while my chief was thus holding hard to the ancestral 
customs, like a rock in a rushing stream, our cousins, the Yankton- 
aise and the Ogallallahs, were slowly yielding to the power of 
Washington. Like the Wyandottes, the Miamis and the Illini, 
they were retiring before the wonder-working plowmen. 

In the autumn of the year 1869 the agent again sent out a call 
for us to come and join another peace council. Washington wanted 
to buy some more of our land. Of course The Sitting Bull refused, 
and gave commands that no one leave his camp, except such 
messengers as he sent to check the vote for a treaty. “I have made 
a vow and I will never treat with you,” he said. 

In spite of all this a minority of the Sioux nation, weak, cowardly 
souls, pieced out with half-breeds and rank outsiders, (like the San- 
tees who had no claim to be counted), made a treaty wherein they 
basely ceded away, without our consent, a large strip of our land in 
Dakota, and fixed upon certain small tracts which were to be held 
perpetually as reservations for all the allied tribes of Sioux. The 


Uncapappas were both sad and furious, but what could they do? 
[169] 


2 


The Book of the American Indian 


The establishment of the agency at Grand River followed this, 
and many of the Yanktonaise moved in and began to accept the 
white man’s food and clothing in payment for their loss of freedom. 

I do not blame these men now. They were afraid, they were 
overawed by the white men, but they had no power to make 
such a treaty binding on us, and my chief, being very sad and 
very angry, said: “Fools! They have sold us to our enemies in 
a day of fear.”’ 

Our world began, at that moment, to fade away, for as the 
fort and agencies grew in power along the Missouri, as they put 
forth their will against my people, two great parties were formed. 
There were many who said: “The white man is the world conqueror; 
we must follow his trail,” but those who said, ““We will die as we 
have lived—red men, free and without fear,” came naturally to the 
lodge of my chief and gladly submitted to his leadership. Go read in 
the records of the War Department, whether this is true or false. You 
do not need a red man’s accusation to prove the perfidy of Congress. 

My chief’s policy remained as before. “Do not make war on the 
whites, but keep our territory clear of the Crows and Mandans.” 

He had surrounded himself with a band of trusted warriors 
whom he used as a general uses the members of his staff. They were 
his far-reaching eyes and ears. They brought him news of distant 
expeditions. They kept order in the camp and protected him from 
the jealousy of subordinate chiefs—for you must know there had 
grown up in the hearts of lesser men a secret hate of our leader. 
This bodyguard of the chief was called “The Silent Eaters,” because 
they met in private feasts and talked quietly without songs or danc- 
ing, whereas all the others in the tribe danced and made merry. 
With these “Silent Eaters” the chief freely discussed all the great 
problems which arose. 

My father was one of these and the chief loved him. To him 
The Sitting Bull spoke plainly. “Why should we go toa reservation 
and plow the hard ground,” he said, “when the buffalo are waiting 

[170] 


The Silent Eaters 


for us in the wild lands? We owe the white man nothing. We can 
take care of ourselves. We buy our guns and ammunition; we pay 
well for them. We are on the earth which the Great Spirit gave to 
us in the beginning. Its fruit is ours, its wood and pasturage are 
ours. Let the white men keep to their own. Why do they trouble 
us? Do they think the Great Spirit a fool, that he creates people 
without reason?”’ 

He knew all that went on at the agency. He heard that leaders 
in opposition to his ways, the ways of our fathers, were rising 
among the renegades who preferred to camp in idleness beside 
the white man’s storehouse. He knew that they were denouncing 
him, but he did not retaliate upon them. “I do not shed blood out 
of choice, but of necessity,” he said. “I ask only leave to live as 
my father lived. The white man is cunning in the making of weap- 
ons, but we are the better hunters. We will trade our skins for 
knives and powder. So far all is well.” 

But you know how it is, the white men would not keep to their 
own. They came into our lands, and when our young warriors 
drove them out all white men cursed The Sitting Bull. This the 
chief did not seek; it was forced upon him. 

I will tell you how this came about. 

In 1873 the government, being moved by those who seek gold, 
sent a commission to meet with my chief, saying, “We desire to 
buy the Black Hills.” 

*T do not care to sell,” he replied, and they went away chagrined. 
Soon after this our scouts came upon a regiment of cavalry spying 
round the hills. They came from the west, and Black Wolf, the 
leader of the scouts, asked, ‘ What are you doing here?” 

The captain laughed and mocked him and said, “‘ We ride because 
our horses are fat and need exercise.” 

These words, when repeated to my chief, disturbed him deeply. 
‘“We must watch these men. They are spies of those who wish to 


steal the Black Hills as the plowmen have already taken the land 
[171] 


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The Book of the American Indian 


east of the Missouri. We can not afford to move again. It is neces- 
sary to make a stand.” 

Then General Custer—‘‘ Long Hair”—was sent on an expedition 
into the hills and the whole tribe became very anxious; even those 
who had accepted the agent’s goods and lived slothfully at the Stand- 
ing Rock began to take alarm. They plainly felt at last the white 
man pushing, pushing from the east. 

Those who went away to see came back reporting that the 
settlers were thick beyond numbering on the prairies and that all 
the forests were being destroyed by them. They were plowing 
above the graves of our sires, whose bones were being flung to the 
wolves. Steamboats hooted along the rivers and iron horses ran 
athwart the most immemorial trails. Immigrants were already 
lining the great muddy river with forts and villages, and some were 
looking greedily at the Black Hills, in which the soldiers had 
reported gold. 

My people considered Custer’s expedition an unlawful incursion 
on their lands, just as, far to the south, so our friends the Ogallallahs 
reported, other white men without treaty were moving westward, 
building railways and driving the buffalo before them. It was 
most alarming. 

The Sitting Bull listened to these tales uneasily, hoping his 
messengers were misled. He feared and hated the more fiercely all 
messengers who came thereafter, bringing gifts, and the commission 
which entered his camp in 1875 found him very dark of face and 
very curt of speech. Never was he less free of tongue. 

They said, ‘We come to buy the hills.” 

He replied, “I do not care to sell.” 

“We will pay well for the loan of the peaks—the high places 
where the gold is.”’ 

“T cannot lend; the hills belong to my people,” he said. 

“We are your friends. You had better sell, for if you don’t the 
white men will take the hills without pay. They are coming m a 

[172] 


The Silent Eaters 


flood. Nothing can stop them; their eyes are fixed. You are 
fighting a losing battle.” 

**T will not sell,” he answered, and turned on his heel, and they 
too went away without success. 

To his “‘Silent Eaters’”’ he said that night: “So long as the 
buffalo do not leave us we are safe. It cannot be that the Great 
Spirit will permit the white men to rob us of both our lands and our 
means of life. He made us what we are, and so long as we follow our 
ancient ways we are good in his sight.” 

Nevertheless, his friends saw that he was greatly troubled. 
The white hunters were then slaughtering the buffalo for the robes. 
They were killing merely for the pleasure of killing. The herds 
were melting away like clouds in the sky, their bones covered the 
plain, and my chief began to fear that the commissioner had told 
the truth. He began to doubt the continuance of his race. 


Ill 
THE BATTLE OF THE BIG HORN 


In the spring of 1876, as your count runs, news came to us that 
the troops were fighting our brethren, and soon afterward some 
Cheyennes came to our camp and warned the chief, “The soldiers 
of Washington are marching to fight you. They intend to force 
you to go to the reservation.” 

The Sitting Bull was deeply moved by this news. “Why do they 
do this? I am not at war with them. They are not good to eat. 
I kill only game—the beasts that we need for food. I am always 
for peace. You who know me will bear witness that I take most 
joy in being peacemaker. I mediate gladly. Now I will make a 
sign. To show them that we do not care to fight I will move camp. 
Let us go deep into the West where the soil is too hard for the plow, 
far from the white man, and there live in peace. It is a land for 


hunters; those who plant the earth will never come to dispossess us.” 
[173] 





The Book of the American Indian 


After a long discussion his plan was decided upon. It was a 
sorrowful day for us when we were commanded to leave our native 
hills and go into a strange land, far from the graves of our forefathers. 
Songs of piercing sadness rang through the lodges when the camp 
police went about ordering the departure, and some of the chieftains 
wished to stay and fight. 

“We are surrendering our land to the enemy,” they said. “We 
are throwing part of our people to the wolf in order to preserve 
the rest.” 

“The land is wide and empty to the west,” urged the chief. 
“Washington will now be satisfied. He has eaten hugely of our 
hunting ground; his greed will now be appeased. He will not 
follow us into the mysterious sunset, because his plow is useless 
there.” 

Our camp at this time was in the Cave Hills between the Grand 
River and the headwaters of the Moreau, and in a great procession 
we set forth to the west, moving steadily till we reached the Powder 
River Valley. There we met three hundred lodges of the Cheyennes 
under the command of Crazy Horse, American Horse, and Two 
Moon. 

To us American Horse said: “We are ready to fight. General 
Crook is at war upon us, but we have beaten him once and we can 
do it again. Now we will go with you and camp with you and battle 
when the time comes. Our fortunes shall be yours. Whatever 
happens, we will share it with you.” 

“There will be no need to war,” said my chieftain, solemnly. 
“We have given up our land, we are going far into the west beyond 
even the Crow country where the buffalo are. Our enemy will not 
follow us there.” 

Crazy Horse shook his head. ‘He will come, this white man. 
He trails us wherever we go. He has no more pity than the wolf. 
He has made a vow to sweep us from the earth.” 


Our camp was very large and my chief was in the fullness of 
[174] 


om 














































































































































































































o 
o 


e Scouts Patrolling the Bi 
Timber of the North Canadian, 


e 


Chevenn 


klahoma 


Illustration from 


O 


LAHOMA 


K 


SCOUTS IN O 


CHEYENNE 


Originally published in 
Harper’s WEEKLY, April 6, 1889 


SSS 
SSS 








Indians Reconnoitering from a 
Mountain-top 


The I:een eye of the Indian is able to distinguish objects 
even in such an extensive view as this appears to be. To 
the white man, however, the Western landscape—red, yel- 
low, blue, in a prismatic way, shaded by cloud forms and 
ending among them—appears as something unreal. 


Illustration from 
SUN-DOWN’S HIGHER SELF 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Harrer’s MaGazine, November, 1898 








The Silent Eaters 


his command. Some of the Ogallallahs had joined us before and 
with the Cheyennes we were nearly fifteen hundred lodges. We 
made no effort at concealing our trail. We moved in a body, and 
where we went we left a broad and dusty road. We trailed leisurely 
up the Yellowstone to the mouth of the Rosebud and up the Rose- 
bud to the head of a small creek which emptied into Greasy Grass 
Creek (a stream which the whites call the Little Big Horn) at a 
point where there was plenty of wood and good grazing. 

_ The chief as he looked down upon this valley said:_ “It is good. 
We will camp here,” and to this they all agreed. It was indeed a 
beautiful place. I was but a lad, but I remember that beautiful 
scene, finer than anything in all our own lands. Hunting parties 
were at once sent out to find the buffalo, and some of the chiei’s 
“Silent Eaters’? mounted the hills to spy backward on our trail. 

The hunters reported the country clear of foes and buffalo near, 
and as the spies brought no news of invaders the people threw off 
all care. With feasts and dances they began to celebrate their 





escape from the oppressor. We were beginning the world anew in 


this glorious country. 

One day in midsummer—I remember it now with beating heart— 
just. in the midst of our preparation for a dance, the cry arose: 
“ The white soldiers—they are coming! Get your horses!”’ 

I remember clearly the very instant. I was sitting in my father’s 
lodge, painting my face for the dance, when this sound arose. The 
shouting came from the camp of The Gall, whose lodges stood at the 
extreme south end of the circle. From where I stood I could see 
nothing, but as I ran up the west bank to find my horse I detected 
a long line of white soldiers riding swiftly down the valley from 
the south. They came like a moving wall and the sun glittered on 
their guns as they reloaded them. Before them the women and 
children were fleeing like willow leaves before a November wind. 

My heart was beating so hard I could scarcely speak. I was 


but a boy and had never seen a white soldier, yet now I must fight. 
[175] 


hn A BEDS SSIS AAD ES STS NS oN RRND DS NEN BS 


The Book of the American Indian 





All around me were hundreds of other young men and boys roping, 
bridling, and mounting the plunging ponies. 

As we came sweeping back my father passed us, leading the 
white horse of the chief, and as we came near the headquarters tent 
the chief came out wearing a war bonnet and carrying his saddle. 
This he flung on his horse, and when he was mounted my father 
and his guard surrounded him and they rode away. My father took 
my horse and I saw neither him nor the chief till night. I heard 
that he tried to check the battle, but the young men of Chief Gall’s 
camp had routed the enemy’s column before he reached there and 
the soldiers were spurring their horses into the river and dashing 
up the hills in mad effort to get away. 

The camp was a mighty whirlpool of confusion. The women 
were taking down the lodges, weeping and singing, the old men and 
boys were roping the horses together, and the ground was covered 
with a litter of blankets, saddles, pouches, and other things which 
escaped notice or seemed unimportant, and all the time we could 
hear the rapid cracking of the guns and it seemed as if we were all 
to be killed. No one knew how many soldiers there were. All 
seemed lost, our shining, peaceful world about to be shattered and 
destroyed. 

I ran to catch another horse, and when I was mounted and 
once more in sight of the valley it was almost deserted. The women 
and children were all gathered in throngs on the west bank, strain- 
ing their eyes toward the cloud of smoke which marked the retreat 
of soldiers to the southeast, singing songs of prayer and exaltation. 

Suddenly a wild cry arose, and looking where an old woman 
pointed, I saw on the bare crest of the hill to the east a fluttering 
flag. A moment later four horsemen appeared, then four more, and 
so in column of fours they streamed into view, a long line of them. 

“Go tell the warriors,’ screamed my mother to me, and, lashing 
my pony, I started down the slope diagonally toward a body of our 


soldiers who were returning from pursuit of the other soldiers. 
[176] 


The Silent Eaters 


They were warned by some one nearer to them than I. I saw 
them turn and spur their horses in a wild race along the river bank. 
I had no weapon, but I kept on till I joined the rear rank. There 
were hundreds in this charge. 

You have heard that my people ambushed Custer. This is a 
lie. The place where he stood to view our camp was a hill as bare 
as your hand. He saw us, knew how many we were, and rode to 
meet us. It was an open attack on our part. Chief Gall led his 
band up a steep ravine and swept round behind the troopers, each 
man clinging to the far side of his horse and shooting beneath 
his neck. 

You have heard it said that we outnumbered Custer ten to one. 
This, too, is false. We had less than twelve hundred warriors, 
counting old and young. We had old-fashioned guns—many of our 
men had only clubs or arrows or lances. Many were boys like 
myself, with not even a club. We were taken unawares, not they. 
They had the new magazine rifles and six-shot revolvers. They 
were all experienced warriors, while we were not; indeed most of 
our men had never been in battle before and they had no notion of 
discipline. Each man fought alone, without direction. We were a 
disorderly mass of excited men. Everybody gave orders; no one 
was leader. That is the way of my people. We have no com- 
mander-in-chief. We fight in bands. Chief Gall led one charge, the 
daughter of Old Horse led another, American Horse led a third, and 
so it proceeded as a mob goes to war. 

I could not see much of what followed, for a great cloud of dust 
and smoke covered the hill. Nobody had any clear idea of the battle. 
It was very hot and we took no notice of time, but it must have been 
about half past ten when the fight began. It did not last very long. 

Once as I dashed near I caught a glimpse of the white soldiers, 
some kneeling, some standing, with their terrible guns ever ready, 
crack—crack—crack, while our warriors circled around them, dash- 


ing close in order to fire and retreating toreload. It seemed that 
[177] 


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The Book of the American Indian 


some of the soldiers ran out of ammunition early, for they sat 
holding their guns without firing. 

The fire was slackening as I rode down to the river to drink, and 
when I returned all was still and the smoke was slowly drifting away. 
Once or twice a band of young braves dashed in close to the last 
group of tangled bodies, and when no weapon flashed back they dis- 
mounted to peer about, looking for Long Hair. 

We did not know then that General Custer had cut his hair 
short, and we all took the body of a man with long black hair to be 
the chief. I now see that we were mistaken. He was a scout. Some 
of the men stripped the bodies of the white men of their clothes, 
while others moved about, counting the dead. There were not 
many red men killed. Our manner of fighting saved us from heavy 
loss. You have heard that our soldiers mangled the dead. This 
is not true. Some crazy old women and a few renegades did so, 
but our chiefs did not countenance this. You call this a “massacre,” 
but to us it was a battle, honorable to us as to the bluecoats. 

The chief’s “Silent Eaters” rode forth among the old men and 
women and commanded them to camp again. This they did, but 
in a different place, farther down the river, near where the Crow 
agency now stands. 

The chief was very sorrowful, for he realized the weight of this 
battle. Foolish ones rode about exulting, but he rebuked them. 
“This is all bad. The Great Father at Washington will now be very 
angry, for we have killed his soldiers. The war chief will come 
against us with greater fury than ever. We cannot remain here.” 

I was told that he did not visit the field of the dead. I do not 
know the truth of this, but he sat in his lodge, pondering, while Gall 
and his men held Reno prisoner on the hill. It was only a matter of 
wearing them out and then the whole army would be defeated, so 
the foolish ones said. 

All the chiefs met in council at sunset, and The Sitting Bull said: 
“We cannot afford to make war on the white soldiers. They are 

[178] 


The Silent Eaters 


too many and too brave. My heart is heavy with this day’s work. 
It is our first battle with the bluecoats and I now look to see all 
their war chiefs assemble against us. We must leave this place. 
There is no refuge for us here. We must go farther into the unknown 
world to the west. In ancient days our people migrated and now 
our turn has come.” 

There was little sleep that night. All through the long hours 
the wail of the grief-stricken ones went on, and over the field of the 
dead the “war women” ran frenzied with grief, mutilating the 
bodies of their enemies. It was a night to make a boy grow old. 
My father said: “All hope of ever seeing our ancient home is gone. 
Henceforth we must dwell in the lands of our enemies.”’ And his 
face filled one with despair. I wept with my mother. 

Early next day the mass of our warriors swept out against Reno, 
and he, too, would have perished like Custer but that the chief’s 
ever-watchful spies from a distant butte caught and flashed forward 
these terrifying signs. 

** More soldiers are coming up the river—a mighty host in steam- 
boats.” | 

Then the chief sent forth his camp soldiers among the lodges 
with this news and with orders to get ready to move instantly. 
Couriers rushed away to the hills to recall those who were besieging 
Reno. The women and old men again hurriedly packed the lodges, 
whilst we lads gathered up the ponies, and at last, following the old 
chiefs and The Sitting Bull, we streamed away up the river toward 
the mountains, leaving the field to our enemy’s scouts, but on every 
hill stood a “Silent Eater,” and through them we had knowledge of 
each movement of those who rescued Reno and buried the dead. 

We camped that night in the hills far toward some great shining, 
snowy peaks, the like of which we had never seen. 

The troops which were under command of General Terry did 
not stay long. They did not even look about very closely. They 


were afraid they might find us, I think. They hurriedly buried the 
[179] 


22 —— 
— SSS SSS SSS SSS 


The Book of the American Indian 


dead and retreated quickly down the Big Horn to the Yellowstone, 
followed by our scouts, who reported every movement to The 
Sitting Bull. 

This retreat of Terry made many of our leaders bold, and some 
of them, like The Gall, wished to pursue and strike again, but my 
chief opposed that. It is true he gave orders to return to the mouth 
of what is now Reno Creek, but he did this because in our haste we 
had left many ropes and saddles and other things lying scattered 
on the grass, and we needed them. This was the third day after the 
battle and no enemy was in sight. 

On this night the chiefs counciled again and The Sitting Bull 
advised flight. ‘Let us set our breasts to the west wind and not 
look back,” he said. “The white man fills the East. Toward the 
setting sun are the buffalo. Let us make friends with all our red 
brethren and go among them, and live in peace.” 

But the old men were timid. They said: ‘We do not know 
the land to the west; it is all very strange to us. It is said to be 
filled with evil creatures. The mountains reach to the sky. The 
people are strong as bears and will destroy us. Let us remain 
among the Crows whom we know. Let us make treaty with them.” 

To this the chief at last agreed, and gave orders to be ready to 
march early the next morning. ‘When a man’s heart beats with 
fear it is a good thing to keep moving,” he said to my father. 

Thus began a retreat which is strange to tell of, for we retraced 
our trail over the low divide back into the valley of the Rosebud, 
and so down the Yellowstone to the Missouri, ready to enter upon 
our exile. It was all new territory to most of us. Our food was 
gone, and when our hunters brought news of buffalo ahead we 
rushed forward joyously, keeping to the north, and so entered 
the land of the Crows. 

Meanwhile the white soldiers had also retreated. They didn’t 
know where we were. Perhaps they were afraid we would suddenly 


strike them on the flank. Anyhow, they withdrew and filled the 
[180] 








The Silent Eaters 





East (as I afterward learned) with lies about us and our chiefs. 
They said the chief had four thousand warriors, that he was accom- 
panied by a white soldier, and many other foolish things. 

Our people rejoiced now, and at The Sitting Bull’s advice our 
band broke up into small parties, the better to hunt and prepare 
meat for winter. It was easier to provide food when divided into 
small groups, and so my chief’s great “army,” as the white men 
called it, scattered, to meet again later. 

It must have been in October that we came together, and in 
the great council which followed, the chief announced that the white 
soldiers were coming again and that it was necessary to push on to 
the north. This was on the Milk River, and there you may say the 
last stand of the Sioux took place—for it was in this council that the 
hearts of the Ogallallahs, our allies, weakened. One by one their 
orators rose and said: “‘We are tired of running and fighting. We 
do not like this cold northland. We do not care to go farther. The 
new white-soldier chief is building a fort at Tongue River. He has 
many soldiers and demands our surrender. He has offered to receive 
us kindly.” 

My chief rose and with voice of scorn said: “Very well. If 
your hearts are water, if you desire to become white men, go!”’ 
And they rose and slipped away hastily and we saw them no more. 

Then the Cheyennes said: “‘We, too, have decided to return to 
our own land. We dread the desolate north.” 

Then my chief was very sad, for the Cheyennes are mighty 
warriors. “Very well, my brothers,” he replied. ““You came of 
your own accord and we will not keep you. We desire your friend- 
ship. Go in peace.” 

So they left us. We were now less than half of our former 
strength, but we faced the north winds with brave hearts—even the 
women sang to cheer our way. 

We were near the Missouri when Miles, the white chief, suddenly 


threw himself in our way and demanded a council. 
[181] 


SEITE Sr nnn Eee anesanaewssnesemeomanye ne 


The Book of the American Indian 


A battle would have been very unequal at this time, for our 
warriors were few and our women and children many; therefore, 
The Sitting Bull and five chiefs went forth to meet Miles and his 
aides. 

Perhaps you have read the white man’s side of this. I will tell 
you of the red man’s part, for my father rode beside our chief at 
this time. 

Colonel Miles had over four hundred men and a cannon. His 
men were all armed perfectly, while we had less than a thousand 
men and boys, and many of even the men had no guns at all. We 
were burdened with the women and children, too. 

Six white men met The Sitting Bull and his five braves. My 
father was one of these men and he told me what took place. 

The chief rode forward slowly, and as he neared the white chief 
he greeted him quietly, then lifted his hands to the sky in a prayer 
to the Great Spirit. “Pity me, teach me. Give me wise words,” he 
whispered. 

“Which of you is The Sitting Bull?” asked Colonel Miles. 

“T am,” replied the chief. 

“TI am glad to meet you. You area good warrior and a great 
leader.” 

To this my chief abruptly replied: “Why do you remain in my 
country? Why do you build a camp here?” 

Thereupon Miles sternly answered: ‘‘We are under orders to 
bring you in. I do not wish to make war on you, but you must 
submit and come under the rule of the department at Washington.” 

The Sitting Bull made reply quietly, but with emphasis: “This 
country belongs to the red man and not to the white man. I do 
not care to make war on you. My people are weary of fighting and 
fleeing.” , 

“Why do you not come in and live quietly on your reservation 
at the Standing Rock?”’ 


“Because I am a red man and not an agency beggar. The 
[182] 


The Silent Eaters 


bluecoats drove us west of the Missouri, they robbed us of the Black 
Hills, they have forced us to take this land from the Crows, but we 
wish to live at peace. You have no right to come here. You must 
withdraw all your troops and take all settlers with you. There 
never lived a paleface who loved a redskin, and no Lakota ever 
loves a paleface. Our interests are directly opposed. Only in trade 
can we meet in peace. I am Uncapappa and I desire to live the 
ways of my fathers in the valleys which the Great Spirit gave to my 
people. I have not declared war against Washington, but I will 
fight when you push me to the wall. I do not like to be at strife. 
It is not pleasant to be always fleeing before your guns. This 
western world is wide; it is lonely of human life. Why do you not 
leave it to us? All my days I have lived far from your people. All 
that I got of you I have paid for. My band owes you nothing. 
Go back to the sunrise and we will live as the Great Spirit ordained 
that we should do.” 

General Miles was much moved, but said: “‘I want you to go with 
me to meet the Great Father’s representatives and talk with them.” 

“No,” my chief replied. “I am afraid to do that, now that we 
have had a battle with your soldiers. We went far away and your 
warriors followed us. They fell upon us while we were unprepared. 
They shot our women and children and they burned our tepees. 
Then we fought, as all brave men should, and we killed many. I did 
not desire this, but so it came about. Do not blame me.” 

The white chief was silent for a time, then he said: “If you do not 
give up your arms and come upon the reservation I will follow you 
and destroy you.” 

At this my chief broke forth: ‘My friend, we had better quit 
talking while we are good-natured.” Then lifting his arm in a 
powerful gesture, he uttered a great vow: “So long as there is a 
prairie dog for my children, or a handful of grass for my horses, The 
Sitting Bull will remain Uncapappa and a freeman.” And he 


turned his horse about and returned to our lines. 
[183] 


en 


The Book of the American Indian 


During this time our spies had discovered the guns which 
Miles had pointed at the chief, and knew that the soldiers were 
ready to shoot our envoys down. 

When the chief was told this he said: “No matter. We have 
held up our hands to the Great Spirit; we must not fire the first 
shot.” 

He was anxious for peace, for, while he was still the leader of 
many men, he knew something of the power of the War Department 
and he feared it. All that night he sat in council with the chiefs, 
who were gloomy and disheartened. Next morning, hearing that 
General Miles was coming toward his camp, The Sitting Bull sent 
out a white flag and asked for another talk. This Colonel Miles 
granted and they met again. My chief said: 

“We have counseled on the matter and we have decided on these 
terms. We ask the abandonment of this our country by your 
soldiers. We ask that all settlements be withdrawn from our land, 
except trading posts, and our country restored to us as it was before 
the white settlers came. My people say this through me.” 

To this Miles harshly replied: “If you do not immediately 
surrender and come under the rule of the reservations, I will attack 
you and pursue you till you are utterly destroyed. I give you 
fifteen minutes to decide. At the end of that time I open fire.” 

Then the heart of my chief took flame. Shaking his hand at the 
soldiers, he whirled his horse, and came rushing back, shouting: 
“Make ready! The white soldiers are about to shoot!” 

Under his orders I and other lads rushed to the front and began 
to fire the grass, thus making a deep smoke between us and the 
enemy. While the women hurriedly packed the tepees the men 
caught their horses. All was confusion and outcry. But our 
warriors held the enemy in check so that we got our camp out of 
harm’s way. We were afraid of the big gun; we had little fear of 
the horsemen and their carbines. 


For two days Miles pushed us and we gave way. The white 
[184] 


The Silent Eaters 


historians are always ungenerous, if not utterly false. They do not 
give my people credit. Consider our disadvantages. Our women 
and children were with us and must be protected. It required many 
of the young men to take care of our ponies and the camp stuff. We 
were forced to live on game and game was scared away, while the 
white soldiers had rations and the best of horses. The country was 
not a good one for us. Hour by hour Miles pushed us, and in spite 
of all the skill of our chiefs, we lost most of our ponies and a great 
deal of our food and clothing, and our people became deeply dis- 
heartened. The rapid-fire gun of the white soldiers terrified us— 
and though the earth grew blacker and darker, we fled northward. 

At last, on the third day, decisive council took place among the 
chiefs. The Sitting Bull and The Gall said, “‘ We will not surrender!”’ 
But many of the lesser ones cried out: “What is the use? The 
white man is too strong. The country grows more barren, the game 
has fled. Let us make peace. Let us meet Miles again.” 

But my chief indignantly refused. ‘‘Are we coyotes?” he said. 
“Shall we slink into a hole and whine? You Yanktonaise and 
Minneconjous have eaten too much white man’s bread. It has 
taken the heart out of you. Do you wish to be the sport of our 
enemies? Then go back to the agencies and grow fat on the serap 
they will throw to you. As for me, I am Uncapappa, I will not 
submit. I owe the white race nothing but hatred. I do not seek 
war with Miles, but if he pursues me I will fight. My heart is hot 
that you are so cowardly. I will not take part in this peace talk. 
I have spoken.” 

Once again he rose, and spoke with the most terrible intensity, 
struggling to maintain his supremacy over his sullen and dis- 
heartened allies, but all in vain. He saw at last that his union of 
forces had been a failure, and, drawing his “Silent Eaters’? around 
him, he sent criers through the camp calling on all those who 
wished to follow him to break camp. 


It was a solemn day for my race, a bitter moment for my chief. 
[185] 





The Book of the American Indian 


He saw his bond of union crumbling away, becoming sand where 
he thought it steel. When Crazy Horse and the Cheyennes fell 
behind he could not complain, for they were but friends who had 
formed a temporary alliance, but the desertion of the Yanktonaise 
was a different matter. They were of his blood and were leaving 
us, not to fight, but to surrender. They were deserting us and 
all that we stood for. And my chief’s heart was very sore as he saw 
them ride away. Less than two hundred lodges went with The 
Sitting Bull; the others surrendered. 

It took heroic courage to set face to the north at that time of 
the year. The land was entirely unknown even to our guides, and 
the winter was upon us. It was treeless, barren, and hard as iron. 
As the snows fell our sufferings began. I have read the white 
historians’ account of this. I have read in Miles’s book his boasting 
words of the heroism of the white troops as they marched in pursuit 
of us in the cold and snow, but he does not draw attention to the 
fact that my chief and his people traversed the same road in the 
same weather, with scanty blankets and no rations at all. Accord- 
ing to his own report his troops outnumbered us, man, woman, and 
child, and yet he did not reach, much less capture, a man of us. 

Our side of all this warfare has never been told. You have all 
the newspapers, all the historians. Your officers dare not report 
the true number of the slain, and they always report the red men 
to be present in vast number. It would make the world smile to 
know the truth. You glorify yourselves at our cost, and we have 
thus far had no one to dispute you. I am only a poor “Injun,” 
after all, and no one will read what I write, but I say the white 
soldiers could never defeat an equal number of my people on the 
same terms. 

Our moccasins grew thin with our hurrying. We were always 
cold and hungry. No wood could be found. We burned our lodge 
poles. Our horses weakened and died and we had no meat. The 


buffalo had fled, there were no antelope, and the wind always 
[186] 





FP ai ai tee oe 


es 


end ins ns eign EDC 
Se TT AZANG | ROAMELVOK ES 


eee 





The Brave Cheyennes Were Running 
Through the Frosted Hills 


This is Dull Knife’s band of Northern Cheyennes, known 
as the Spartans of the plains. And deservedly were they 
called a Spartan band, for, relentlessly pursued by cavalry 
troops for over ten days, these gallant warriors fought to — 
their last nerve, making their last stand only when nature — 
itself was exhausted. ' 


Illustration from 
A SERGEANT OF THE ORPHAN TROOP 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Harper’s MaGazine, August, 1897 








~— js 
— CACTIC \Stin ten 


é 





Campaigning in Winter 


A body of United States cavalry in winter rig in pursuit 
of a band of Minneconjoux Sioux, who had left their agency 
and were making for the camp of the hostiles in the Bad 
Lands. 


Illustration from 
A SERGEANT OF THE ORPHAN TROOP 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
HaRprER’s MAGazInE, August, 1897 





Niuean 


The Silent Eaters 


stung—yet we struggled on, cold, hungry, hearing the wails of our 
children and the cries of our women, pushing for a distant valley 
where our scouts had located game. 

At last the enemy dropped behind and we went into camp near 
the mouth of the Milk River on the Big Muddy, and soon were 
warm and fed again, but our hearts were sore for the unburied dead 
that lay scattered behind us in the snow. Do you wonder that our 
hate of you was very great? 

There we remained till spring. The soldiers had been relentless 
in pursuit until the winter shut down; after that they, too, went 
into camp and we lived in peace, recuperating from our appalling 
march. And day by day The Sitting Bull sat in council with his 
“Silent Eaters.” 

Our immediate necessities were met, but the chief’s heart was 
burdened with thought of thefuture. AII our allies had fallen away. 
The Cheyennes and Ogallallahs were bravely fighting for their land 
in the south, but the Yanktonaise and Minneconjous, our own 
blood, with small, cold hearts, were sitting, self-imprisoned, in the 
white man’s war camp. 

You must not forget that we had no knowledge of geography 
such as you have. We knew only evil of the land that lay to the 
north and west of us. We were like people lost in the night. Every 
hill was strange, every river unexplored. On every hand the 
universe ended in obscurity, like the lighted circle of a campfire. 
A little of the earth we knew; all the rest was darkness and terror. 

We could not understand the government’s motives. Your 
war chief’s persistency and his skill scared us. We were without 
ammunition, we could neither make powder nor caps for our rifles, 
and our numbers were few. Miles had the wealth of Washington 
at his back. This you must remember when you read of wars upon 
us. Where we went our women and children were obliged to go, 
and this hampered our movements. What would Miles have done 


with five hundred women and children to transport and guard? 
[187] 








The Book of the American Indian 


All these things made further warfare a hopeless thing for us, for 
we were dependent upon our enemy for ammunition and guns, 
without which the feeding of our people was impossible. To crown 
all our troubles, the buffalo were growing very wild and were 
retreating to the south. 

Up to this time we had only temporary scarcity of food, but 
now, when we could not follow the buffalo in their migrations, 
my chief began to see that they might fail us at the very time 
we most needed them. “Surely the Great Spirit has turned his 
face from us,” he said, as his scouts returned to say the buffalo 
were leaving the valley. 

If you were to talk for a day, using your strongest words, you 
could not set forth the meaning of the buffalo to my people at 
this time. They were our bread and our meat. They furnished 
us roof and bed. They lent us clothing for our bodies. The chase 
kept us powerful, continent, and active. Our games, our dances, 
our songs of worship, and many of our legends had to do with these 
great cattle. They were as much a part of our world as the hills 
and the trees, and to our minds they were as persistent and ever- 
recurring as the grass. 

To say “The buffalo will fail” was like saying “The sun will 
rise no more.” Our world was shaken to its base when a red man 
began even to dream of this. We spoke of it with whispered words. 

“To go farther north is to say farewell to the buffalo,” the chief 
said to my father—and in this line you may read the despair of 
the greatest leader my tribe has produced. To go north was to 
face ever-deepening cold in a gameless, waterless, treeless land; 
to go south was to walk into the white chief’s snare. 

One day as the old men sat in council a stranger, a friendly 
half-breed from the north, rose and said: 

“My friends, I have listened to your stories of hard fighting 
and running, and it seems to me you are like a lot of foxes whose 


dens have been shut tight with stones. The hunters are abroad 
[188] 


eR RR EE HR A a 


The Silent Eaters 


and you have no place of refuge. Now to the north, in my country, 
there is a mysterious line on the ground. It is so fine you cannot 
see it; it is finer than a spider’s web at dusk; but it is magical. 
On one side of it the soldiers wear red coats and have a woman 
chief. On the other they wear blue coats and obey Washington. 
Open your ears now—listen! No blue soldier dares to cross that 
line. This is strange, but it is true. My friends, why do you not 

cross this wonder-working mark? There are still buffalo up there 
and other game. There is a trader not three days’ ride from here, 
one who buys skins and meat. There-you can fill your powder cans 
and purchase guns. Come with me. I will show the way.” 

As he drew this alluring picture loud shouts of approval rang 
out. “Let us go!” they said one by one. “We are tired of being 
hunted like coyotes.” 

The chief smoked in silence for a long time, and then he rose 
and his voice was very sad as he chanted: “‘I was born in the 
valley of the Big Muddy River. I love my native land, I dread 
to leave it, but the pale soldiers have pushed us out and we are 
wanderers. I have listened to our friend. I should like to believe 
him, but I cannot. White people are all alike. They are all forked 
and wear trousers. They will treat us the same no matter what 
color of coats they wear. If any of you wish to go I will not hinder. 
As for me, I am not yet weak in the knees, I can still run, and I can 
still fight when need comes. I have spoken.” 

Part of the people took the advice of the Cree and went across 
the line, but The Sitting Bull remained in the valley of the Missouri 
till the spring sun took away the snow. 





IV 
DARK DAYS OF WINTER 
I sHALL never forget that dreadful winter. It seems now like 


one continuous whirling storm of snow filled with wailing. We 


were cold and hungry all the time, and the white soldiers were ever 
[189] 


ee 


The Book of the American Indian 


on our trail. Many died and the cries of women never ceased. 
It was as if the Great Spirit had forgotten us. 

The chief, satisfied at last that the Cree had told the truth and 
despairing of the future, turned his little band to the north, and in 
the early spring crossed the line near the head of Frenchman’s 
Creek and camped close to the hill they call Wood Mountain, 
where the redcoats had a station and a small store. No one would 
have known this small, ragged, sorrowful band as “the army of 
The Sitting Bull.” 

My father was a great man—as great in his way as his chief- 
tain—but he was what you call a philosopher. He spoke little, but 
he thought much, and one day soon after this he called me to him 
and said: ‘My son, you have seen how the white man puts words 
on bits of paper. It is now needful that some one of us do the same. 
We are far from our home and kindred. You must learn to put 
signs on paper like the white man in order that we may send word 
to those we have left behind. I have been talking with a black- 
robe (a priest) and to-morrow you go with him to learn the white 
man’s wonderful sign language.” 

My heart froze within me to hear this, and had I dared I would 
have fled out upon the prairie; but I sat still, saying no word, and 
my father, seeing my tears, tried to comfort me. ‘Be not afraid, 
my son. I will visit you every day.” 

“Why can’t I come home each night?” I asked. 

“Because the black-robe says you will learn faster if you live 
with him. You must travel this road quickly, for we sorely need 
your help.” 

He took me to Father Julian and I began to read. 

We lived here peacefully for two years. The Cree had told us 
the truth. General Miles dared not cross the line, but he chased 
my people whenever they ventured over it. At Wolf Point, on the 
Missouri, was a trader who spoke our language (he had an Indian 


wife) and with him my chief often talked. He had spies also at 
[190] 





The Silent Eaters 


Fort Peck, which was an agency for the Assiniboines, and so knew 
where the soldiers were at all times. 

I had a friend, a Cree, who could read the papers, and from 
them I learned what the white people said of us. Through him I 
heard that many people sympathized with The Sitting Bull and 
declared that it was right to defend one’s native land. 

These words pleased the chief, but it made two of his head men 
bitter. They grew jealous because their names were not spoken by 
the white man, and they would have overthrown my chief if they 
dared, but now the “Silent Eaters” came to his aid. With them to 
guard him, the chief could treat the jealous ones with contempt. 
Wherever he went my father and others of his bodyguard went with 
him, so that no traitor could kill him and sell his head to the white 
people. 

The redcoats liked my chieftain well. He was always just and 
peaceful. If a reckless young man did a wrong thing agaimst the 
settlers The Sitting Bull punished him and said: “A righteous 
man does not strike the hand which saves him from the wolf. No 
one can steal from these our friends and not be punished.” 

Once when he went to visit the trader at Wolf Point I went with 
him, and was present at a long talk which they held. The trader 
gave us a tent and some food and at night when we had eaten he 
came and sat down to smoke. 

“Sitting Bull,” he began, “‘I cannot understand you. I cannot 
see as you do. We white people look ahead, we ask ourselves what 
is going to happen in the future; but you seem to go on blindly. 
My friend, what do you intend to do?” 

The chief considered this carefully, but said nothing. 

The trader went on: “The buffalo will soon be gone—you 
can see that. The cold is killing them and the guns of the white 
hunters crack, crack all the time. What will you do when they are 
gone?” 


The chief broke forth passionately: “‘I did not leave the Black 
[191] 








The Book of the American Indian 





Hills of my own will; the soldiers pushed me out. I loved my 
home, but the paleface came and with his coming all the old things 
began to change. I kept out of his way, I did not seek war with 
him, but he never slept till he drove me among the redcoats. The 
redcoats do not say much to us, but what they speak is fair and 
straight. So long as a gopher remains on the plains I will stay and 
I will fight. All my life I have been a man of peace, but now my 
back is to the rock; I shall run no more. I am not afraid to die 
and all my warriors are of my mind.” 

The trader replied: ‘‘Your people are poor and suffering. The 
Canadian government cannot help you. Our Great Father is rich. 
He will take care of you and your people. Why don’t you do as 
the Yanktonaise did—go to a reservation and settle down.” 

‘“‘Because I am a red man. If the Great Spirit had desired me 
to be a white man he would have made me so in the first place. 
He put in your heart certain wishes and plans, in my heart he put 
other and different desires. Each man is good in His sight. It is 
not necessary for eagles to be crows. Now we are poor, but we are 
free. No white man controls our footsteps. If we must die we 
will die defending our rights. In that we are all agreed. This you 
may say to the Great Father for me.” 

The trader waited till the chief’s emotion passed away, and 
then he said: “‘Look you, my friend, all white men are not your 
enemies. There are many who are on your side.” 

“IT cannot trust them. A few months ago some men came 
professing friendship; they offered me land and a house, but I 
fear all those who come bearing gifts. I will trade; I will not take 
gifts. I do not make war; I only defend my women and children 
as you would do.” 

The trader rose. “Very well. I have said all I care to say on that 
head, but I shall be glad to see you at any time and I wish to trade 
with you.” 

“Will you trade guns?” 

[192] 


The Silent Eaters 


“No, I can’t do that.”’ 

**Tf we kill game we must have guns.” 

**T know that, but I fear the soldiers as well as you, chief. They 
tell me not to sell you guns, and I must obey.” 

The Sitting Bull rose and took from his side his embroidered 
tobacco pouch. 

“You are of good heart and I will trade with you.” He handed 
the pouch to the trader, for this is an emblem of respect among 
my people, and they shook hands and parted. If all men had been 
like this man, we would not now be an outcast race. 

All that autumn while I studied the white man’s books my 
people camped not far away and traded at Wolf Point. It was well 
they did, for the winter set in hard. The cold became deadly and 
they had few robes. They were forced to sell all they had to buy 
food and ammunition. It is a terrible thing to be hungry in a land 
of iron. Do you wonder that we despaired? 

Just when the winter was deep with snow a messenger came to 
warn us that a great military expedition was on its way to catch 
The Sitting Bull and his people. The chief immediately gave orders 
to pack, and with stern face again led the way to the north across 
the Great Divide. The white soldiers had plenty of blankets and 
food. They followed us hard. The storms were incessant. The 
snow, swept to and fro by the never-resting wind, blinded the 
eyes of the scouts and path finders. 

Oh, that terrible march! In the gullies the horses floundered 
and fell to rise no more. There was no tree to shelter a tepee, no 
‘fuel for our fire. Women froze their arms and breasts, and little 
children died of cold and hunger. The camp grew each day more 
silent. The dogs were killed for food, and each night the lodge 
poles were cut down to make kindling, till each tepee became like 
a child’s toy. The guides lost their way in the storm and the whole 
camp wandered desperately in a great circle. My words cannot 


picture to you the despair and suffering of that march. 
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When at last they came into the old camp at Wood Mountain 
they were bleeding, ragged, and hollow eyed with hunger. The 
Sitting Bull looked like an old man. The commander hardly 
recognized him, so worn and broken was he, and I, who remembered 
him as the proud leader of two thousand lodges of people, was 
made sorrowful and bitter by the change in his face. 

That winter was the coldest known to my people. They sat 
huddled over their camp fires in the storms, while hunters ranged 
desperately for game. The redcoats helped us as much as they 
could, and strangers far away, hearing of our need, sent a little food 
and some clothing, but, in spite of all, many of our old people died. 

Hunting parties rode forth desperately to the south, and some 
of them never returned. The buffalo were few and very, very 
distant, and our scouts from the Yellowstone reported whole herds 
already frozen. Myriads were starving because of the deep snow. 
“By spring none will remain,” they said. ‘“‘Surely the Great Spirit 
has turned his face away from his red sons.”’ 

The sufferings of the children broke the proud hearts of the 
chiefs. One by one they began to complain. Some of them 
reproached The Sitting Bull and there were those who would have 
delivered his head to the white men, but were prevented by the 
“Silent Eaters,”’ who were ever watchful. 

Many now said: “Let us go back. The buffalo are gone. We 
are helpless and our children starve while our brethern at the 
Standing Rock have plenty and are warm. We are tired of fight- 
ing and fleeing. The Great Spirit is angry with us. He has with- 
drawn his favor and we must do as Washington wishes. We must 
eat his food and do his work. He is all powerful. It is useless to 
hold out longer.’ 

To all this the chief made no reply, but brooded darkly, talking 
only in the soldier’s lodge. His mind was busy with the problems 
of life and death which the winter wind sang into his ears. 


From my warm home with the priest, from the comfort and 
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The Silent Eaters 


security which I was just beginning to comprehend and enjoy, I 
went now and again into the camp, and the pity of it was almost 
more than I could bear. No one talked, no one sang, no one smiled. 
It was like some dreadful dream of the night. 

What could I do? I had nothing. I ate, but I could not carry 
food to my chief. I had warm clothing, but I could not lend it 
to my father. Though hardly more than a boy, my heart was big 
as that of a man. I began to understand a little of the mighty 
spread of the white man’s net, and yet I dared not tell the chief 
my secret thought. 

How can I make you understand? Can you not see that we 
were facing the end of our world? My chief was confronting cap- 
tivity and insult and punishment. His bright world of danger and 
freedom and boundless activity was narrowing to a grave, and only 
the instinctive love of life kept him and his “Silent Eaters” from 
self-destruction. In all the history of the world there has been 
no darker day for a race than this when midwinter fell upon us 
in that strange land of the north. 


V 
THE CHIEF SURRENDERS HIMSELF 


Tue first days of spring were worse than the winter. Rain 
and sleet followed each other, and the few remaining buffalo seemed 
to sink into the ground, so swiftly they disappeared. White people 
read in papers of wars and elections and the price of wheat; our 
news came by brave runners, and their tales were ever of the same 
dole. 

“What of the buffalo? Where are the buffalo? Are the buffalo 
starving?”? The answers always were the same. “The buffalo are 
gone. We are lost!” 

The report of our desperate condition went out over the world 
and sympathetic people came to urge us to surrender. One mes- 


senger, a priest, a friend of General Sherman, the great war chief, 
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came, and The Sitting Bull called a council to sit with him, and 
some Canadian officers also were there. 

After they had all finished speaking, The Sitting Bull replied: 
“T am ready to make a peace. But as for going to Standing Rock, 
that is a question I must consider a long time. I am no fool. I 
know that the man who kills me will be rewarded and I do not 
intend to be taken prisoner. I have long understood the power 
of the whites. I am like a fly in a mountain stream when compared 
with this wonderful and cruel race. I do not care to have my head 
sold to make some man-coyote rich. Now this is my answer: 
I will make a peace. I will keep my people in order but I will not 
go to the Standing Rock. My children can go if they think best.” 

The council broke up at this point, but in private the chief 
said to a friend: ‘‘The Gall is going back, so is The Polar Bear and 
many others. I shall soon be alone. Black Moon, Running Crane, 
all are deserting me, but I shall remain;’ I will not return to die 
foolishly for the white man’s pleasure.” 

All took place as he foresaw. Chief Gall went south and sur- 
rendered. So did Red Fish and The Crane. Only a few remained, 
among them my father and Slohan. 

The chief was pleased to know I was getting skilled in the 
white man’s magic. “I need an interpreter, one I can trust,” he 
said tome. “Go on in the road you have taken.” 

One day as he sat smoking in his tepee I heard him singing in a 
low voice the “Song of the Chieftains,” but he had changed it to a 
sad ending: 


“TI was born a soldier— 
I have lived thus long. 
Ah, I have lived to spend my days in poverty.” 


It broke my heart to look upon him sitting there. I had seen 
him when he was the master spirit of the whole Sioux nation—a 
proud and confident chief. Now he hovered above his fire, singing 


a death song, surrounded by a little circle of ragged lodges. Yet 
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I could not blame his followers. ‘They surrendered, not to the 
white man, but to the great forces of hunger and cold. 

If you ask what defeated The Sitting Bull, I will answer, “‘ The 
passing of the buffalo.” If you ask what caused him to surrender 
his body to the whites, I will say his tender heart. You hear officers 
boast of conquering Sitting Bull, but the one who brought him to 
the post was his daughter. The love of the parent for the child is 
strong in my race; itis terrible. Sitting Bull was a chief, stern and 
resolved, but he was a father also. 

One day a letter came to the British officer from a friend of my 
chieftain, who said, “Tell The Sitting Bull that the white men 
have put his daughter in irons.” 

This daughter, his best-beloved child, had left the camp, lured 
away by her lover, and the chief did not know where she was. His 
heart was bleeding for her, and now when he heard this letter read 
his indignation was very great. “Is it so?” he cried out. “Do they 
make war on a poor weak girl? I will go to her. I will kill her 
captors. I will die beside her.”’ 

That night he called the remnant of his band together and said, 
“My children, you know that the white men have tried often to 
get me to go south to act their pleasure, but I have always refused. 
Now they have taken my daughter, a weak girl with no power to 
defend herself. They have put irons on her feet and on her hands. 
At last I must go south. I must follow her. I wish to find her and 
to kill those who have abused her. I do not want you to go with 
me. I go alone to suffer whatsoever comes to me.” 

Then his people all said, “No, we will go with you.” 

He replied: “Friends, you have stayed too long with me. If 
you wish to go I cannot refuse, but the road is dark and dangerous; 
whereto it leads I cannot tell.” 

We made ready at once to go with him, and though our hearts 
were filled with fear, we were also glad. ‘“‘We’re going home,” the 


women sang. For the last time he gave orders to break camp in 
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Canadian territory, and led the way across the invisible wonderful 
line into the land of the bluecoats. 

His following was very small now. Only his wives and sons 
and a few of the more loyal of the “Silent Eaters” remained. 
Many of even this bodyguard had gone away, but those who 
remained were doubly faithful, and on them he relied to resent 
any indignity. “If we are assaulted let us die fighting, as becomes 
warriors,” he said, and all the men responded firmly, “Aye, that 
will we.” 

Do you think it an easy thing to set your face toward the land 
of your deadly foes, with only a handful of warriors to stand between 
you and torture? Yet this is what my chieftain did. He knew the 
hate and the fear in which the white man held him, for I could now 
read to him and report to him what was said. He was aware of 
the price on his head and that many men were eager to put him 
in chains; yet he went. 

“T shall go to the white soldiers,” he said. “ They will know 
about my daughter. They are warriors, and warriors respect a 
chieftain.” 

Small as his escort was, the commander at Fort Buford respected 
it. He received The Sitting Bull like a chief, and said, ““I have 
orders to take you as military prisoner to Fort Yates.” 

“I know the road home,” my chief haughtily replied. Then 
he handed his gun to me and added, in a milder tone: “T do not 
come in anger toward the white soldiers. [I am very sad. My 
daughter went this road. Her I am seeking. I will fight no more. 
I do not love war. I never was the aggressor. I fought only to 
defend my women and children. Now all my people wish to return 
to their native land. Therefore I submit.”” My heart ached’ to 
hear him say this, but it was true. 

The colonel was very courteous. “You shall be treated as one 
soldier treats another,” he said. ‘In two days a boat will come © 


to take you back to your people at Standing Rock. It is easy to 
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The Silent Eaters 


ride on a boat and you will have plenty to eat and I will send a 
guard to see that you are not harmed by anyone.” 

Thereupon he showed us where to camp and issued rations to us, 
and, as we were all hungry, his kindness touched our hearts. 

On the second day he came to see the chief again: “The boat 
has come to carry you to Standing Rock. I hope you will go quietly 
and take your place among your people who are living on their 
ancient hunting grounds near the Grand River.” 

“I do not wish to be shut up in a corral,” replied The Sitting 
Bull. “It is bad for the young men to be fed by the agent. It 
makes them lazy and drunken. All the agency Indians I have ever 
seen were worthless. They are neither red warriors nor white 
farmers. They are neither wolf nor dog. But my followers 
are weary of being hungry and cold. They wish to see their 
brothers and their old home on the Missouri, therefore I bow my 
head.” 

Soon after this we went aboard the ship and began to move 
down the river. 

Some of us hardly slept at all, so deeply excited were we by the 
wonder of the boat, but the chief sat in silence, smoking, speaking 
only to remark on some change in the landscape or to point out 
some settler’s cabin or a herd of cattle. ‘Our world—the Indian’s 
world—is almost gone,” he muttered. But no one knew as well as I 
how deeply we were penetrating the white man’s civilization. 

We all became excited as the boat neared Bismarck, for there 
stood a large village of white people and men and women came 
rushing out to see us. They laughed and shouted insulting words 
to the chief, and some of them called out, “‘ Kill ’em!’’ The soldiers 
who guarded us kept them back and we went on unharmed, but 
I could see that the sight of this throng of palefaces had again 
made my chief very bitter. 

I shall never forget the strange pain at my heart as we neared 


the high bluff which hides Fort Yates. I did not know how near 
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The Book of the American Indian 


we were till the old men pointed out the landmarks and began to 
sing a sad song: 
“We are returning, my brothers— 


We are coming to see you, 
mt we come as captives.” 


At last we came in sight of the fort, where a great crowd of 
people stood waiting to see us. It seemed as if all the Sioux tribes 
were there, all my chief’s friends and all his enemies. Some laughed, 
some sang, some shouted to us. All on board were crazy with joy, 
but the chief did not change countenance; only by a quiver of his 
lips could his feelings be read. We saw The Gall and The Running 
Antelope and The Crow’s Mane and many more of our friends. 
There were tears on the cheeks of these stern warriors and their 
hands were outstretched to greet us. 

But the chief and my father were taken from the boat under 
military guard and no one was allowed to come near them. My 
mother and sister put up our tepee surrounded by the soldiers. 
Only a few were permitted to come in and see us. 

The chief inquired anxiously for his daughter. One day she 
came, and when she passed into her father’s lodge her face was 
hidden in her hands, her form shook with weakness. I could not 
hear what the chief said to her, for his voice was low and gentle, 
but when I saw her next she was smiling. He had forgiven her and 
was made happy by her promise to stay with him. 

He was greatly chagrined to find himself held a prisoner in the 
face of all his people, and yet this care of his person—this fear of 
him on the white man’s part—made some of his subordinates still 
more jealous of his eminence. They were forgotten, while many 
strangers came from afar and gave my chief many silver pieces 
for his photograph. His fame was greater than even I could realize, 
and chiefs who had no reason to hate him began to speak against 
him. “Why should the white people send him presents?” they 


asked, and began to belittle his position in the tribe. 
[200] 


a 


» 





_Fattuay Yuin vad! 


Indians as Soldiers 


To the Indian, it was the soldier—the man in blue uniform 
—not the civil agents sent out from Washington to dole out 
bad and insufficient rations to a conquered race, that rep- 
resented courage, justice, and truth. Consequently the 
Indians took great pride in being soldiers, and experience 
has shown that they make not only the most efficient but 
also the most faithful of scouts and the best possible material 
for light, irregular cavalrymen. 


Illustrations from 
INDIANS AS IRREGULAR CAVALRY 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Harper’s WEEKLY, December 27, 1890 





nemereerrca teary A 





<= Frese Sloe = 
- : ais a = 


CR SR ES SS SESS SS eee we eS ESTE SE 


An Indian Dream 


Illustration from 
HOW ORDER No. 6 WENT THROUGH 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
HARPER’s MaGazing, May, 1898 


The Silent Eaters 


I do not think my chief counseled evil during this time, but it 
could not be said that he was submissive. He merely waited in 
his tepee the action of his captors. The news that he got of the 
condition of the reservation was not such as to encourage him and 
the roar. of his falling world was still in his ears. He was not yet 
in full understanding of the purpose of Washington. “I do not 
know whether I am to live or die,” he said to my father. ‘‘ What- 
soever my fate, I am happier, now that I have seen my child.” 

After some three weeks of this confinement we were startled 
by an order to break camp and get on board the boat again. “You 
are to go to Fort Randall as military prisoners,” the agent explained 
tome. ‘Tell them these are my orders.” 

When I told the chief he was greatly troubled and, calling his 
“Silent Eaters” about him, he said: “‘This may mean that they 
are going to take us into the mysterious East to kill us in sport, or 
to starve us in prison, far from our kind. Now listen, be ready! 
Our reservation ends at Fort Randall. If they attempt to carry 
us beyond that point let each man snatch a soldier’s gun and fight. 
Let no one cease battle till the last man of us is killed. I am old 
and broken, but I am still a chief. I will not suffer sult and I 
will not be chained like a wolf for the white man’s sport.”’ 

All agreed to this plan, and as the boat neared the fort the 
chief gave the word, and we were scattered, tense with resolution, 
ready to begin our death struggle should the vessel pass beyond the 
line. No one faltered. Nearer and nearer we floated, and all were 
expecting the signal when the boat signaled to the shore and stopped. 
The soldiers never knew how close they came to death on that day. 

Again we went into camp under guard, well cared for by the 
soldiers. The officers all treated The Sitting Bull with marked 
respect and during the day the colonel himself came to sit and 
smoke and talk with us. 

Of him the chief abruptly asked, “Am I to be kept here all my 
life?”’ 

[201] 


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2 
oo eeoeoeoeleleaeaeaa@@aaaaaeeeeen 0 009000 


The Book of the American Indian 


“No. After a while you are to be sent back north. As soon as 
you are prepared to sign a peace and after the anger of the whites 
dies out. I do not hate you. Come and talk to me whenever you 
feel lonesome, I will do all I can to make your stay pleasant.” 

To this The Sitting Bull replied: “Your kindness makes my 
heart warm. It gives me courage to tread the new paths that lie 
before me. I am very sad and distrustful, for I am like a man who 
enters a land for the first time. It is not easy for me to sit down as 
a prisoner and dream out the future. It is all dark to me. You are 
my friend. You are wise and your words have helped me. If we 
could have the aid of men like you, the new road would be less 
fearsome to our feet.” 

The young officers came and asked us many questions about 
our ways of camping, our methods of fighting, and so on, and the 
chief was always ready to talk. Sometimes I pretended not to under- 
stand English in order that I might the better know what was being 
said, and often I heard white people tell ridiculous things. 

“Ts that The Sitting Bull? Why, he looks like an old woman. 
He can’t be a warrior.” Others remarked, “What a sad face he 
has!” and this was true, for he had grown old swiftly. He brooded 
much and there were days when he spake no word to any one, not 
even to my father. 

These were days of enlightenment to me, as well as to my chief, 
but they brought no sign of hope. My father was a kind man, 
naturally cheerful and buoyant, and his eyes were quick to see all 
that the white man did. He comprehended as well as my chief the 
overwhelming power of the white man, but he was less tenacious 
of the past. “It is gone,” he repeated to me privately. “The 
world of our fathers is swallowed up. Go you, my son, and learn 
of the white man the secret power that enables him to make carts 
and powder and rifles. How can we fight him when we must trade | 
with him to win his wonder-working arms and ammunition?” 


And so when one of the officers, Lieutenant Davies, saw me hold- 
[202] 


The Silent Eaters 


ing a scrap of paper and asked me if I could read, I told him I could. 
Thereafter he gave me books and helped me to understand them. 
We called him “Blackbird,” because his mustaches were dark and 
shaped like the wings of a bird. I came to love this man, for he was 
the best paleface I ever knew. He did not condemn us because 
we were red. He did not boast and he was a soldier. He talked 
much with The Sitting Bull, and his speech did more to change 
my chief’s mind than that of any other man. 

‘Submit to all that the White Father demands,” he advised, 
“for so it is ordered in the world. It is not a question of right, or 
of the will of the Great Spirit,” he went on; “it is merely a question 
of cannon and food.” There was something appalling in the way in 
which he said these things. He did not believe in any Great Spirit. 
IT could not understand his religion, but his mind was large and his 
heart gracious. 

“Knowledge is power,” he said tome. “Study, acquire wisdom, 
the white man’s wisdom, then you will be able to defend the rights 
of your people,” and his words sank deep into my heart. 

For two years we lived here under his influence, until one day 
the order came for us to go back up the river, and with glad hearts 
we obeyed. 

It was in the spring and there was joy in our blood, for these 
years of close captivity had made the promise of life on the reserva- 
tion seem almost like freedom. We went back laughing for joy, 
and when we again came in sight of the hill above the Standing 
Rock my father lifted his hands in prayer and the women sang a 
song of joy. As soon as we were released my chief called his old 
guard about him, and said: 

*“My sons, my mind has changed. We are now entering upon a 
new life. The white man’s trail is broad and dusty before us. The 
buffalo are entirely gone and we must depend on the fruit of the 
earth. You observe that The Eagle Killer, The Fire Heart and 


many of our people have oxen and wagons. If they did not come 
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The Book of the American Indian 


into possession of these things by shooting them out of the sky, I 
think we shall be able to acquire similar goods for ourselves. The 
white people have promised that so long as grass grows and water 
runs we shall be unmolested here. Let us live in peace with our 
neighbors.” 

The Sitting Bull was chief because he could do many things, 
and, though he was now a captive with his people, his power and 
influence remained. His “Silent Eaters” gathered round him and 
to them his words were law. The agent also, for a time, treated him 
with consideration, and was very friendly. They spoke often 
together. 

We were at once given oxen and carts and located near the 
agency, where we lived for a year, but the chief longed to return 
to the Grand River, his native valley, and finally the agent gave 
his consent, and we moved to the river flat, just where the Rock 
Creek comes in. Here he built a little log cabin and settled down 
to live like a white man, but I could see that his heart was ever 
soaring to the hills of the West and his thoughts were busy with the 
past. Truly it was strange to see Gall and Crane and Slohan 
sitting in a small cabin, talking of the brave, free days of old. 


VI 
IN CAPTIVITY 


Or what took place on the reservation during the next four 
years I know but little directly, for I went away to Washington to 
study with Lieutenant Davies, who was assigned to duty in the War 
Department, and I did not return to the Standing Rock for many 
years. I heard now and then from my father, who wrote through 
my friend Louie Primeau. He told me that the chief was living 
quietly at Rock Creek, but that he was opposing every attempt of 
the white man to buy our lands. 

My father complained also of the decreasing rations and said: 


“The agent’s memory is short; he has forgotten that these rations 
[204] 





The Silent Eaters 


are in payment for land. He calls them gifts.” My mother sent 
word that my little sister had died and that many were sick of lung 
diseases. “We are very cold and hungry in the winter,”’’she said, 
and my heart bled with remorse, for I was warm and well fed. 

I would have returned at once had not my friend Davies told me 
to stay on and learn all I could. “Go to the top,” he said. “Do 
not halt in the middle of the trail. You will need to be very wise 
to help your people.” 

He was a philosopher. He had no hate of any race. He looked 
upon each people as the product of its conditions, and he often said, 
“The plains Indian was a perfect adaptation of organism to environ- 
ment till the whites disturbed him.” 

His speech and his thought are in all that I write. He taught 
me to put down my words simply and without rhetoric. He gave 
me books to read that were both right and honest, and in all things 
he was truthful. “Your life can never be happy,” he said. “You 
will always be a red man in the clothing of the whites, but you will 
find a pleasure in defending your people. Your race needs both 
historian and defender. Your whole life should be one of teaching 
your people how to live and how to avoid pain. I am not educating 
you to be happy. There can be no shirking your duty. On the con- 
trary, I believe your only way to secure a moment’s peace of mind 
after you return to your tribe is to help them bear their burdens.” 

He warned me of the change which had come to me, as to them. 
“Your boyish imagination idealized your people and the life they 
led. You saw them under heroic conditions. They are now poor 
and despairing and you will be shocked at their appearance and 
position under the agent, but do not let this dismay you. The race 
is there beneath its rags and dirt, a wonderful race.” 

I shall never forget those long talks we had in his study, high up 
in his little house, for he was not rich. Sometimes I could not sleep 
for the disturbing new thoughts which he gave me. Often he nulli- 


fied all the teaching of the schools by some quiet remark. 
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*‘T counsel you to be a Sioux, my boy,” he repeated to me one 
night after I had been singing some of our songs for a group of his 
friends. ‘‘You can never be a Caucasian. There are dusky cor- 
ners in your thought. The songs you sang to-night made your heart 
leap with memories of the chase. A race is the product of conditions, 
the result of a million years of struggle. I do not expect a red man to 
become a white man. Those who do, know nothing of the human 
organism. On the surface I can make some change; but deep down 
your emotions, your superstitions are red and always must be; that 
is not a thing to be ashamed of.” 

I am giving this glimpse into my school days in order that my 
understanding of my chief and my race may appear plain. It is 
due to my good friend Davies, the noblest white I ever knew. I 
want everyone to know how much I owe to him. 

It was strange to me and very irritating to find what false ideas 
of us and of our chief the Washington people held. When it became 
known that I was a Sioux and had been with The Sitting Bull, 
many were eager to question me about him, but I refused to do more 
than say: “‘We fought for our lands as Washington fought for his. 
Now you confine my chief as if he were a wolf. But he is a wise and 
gentle man, a philosopher, therefore he has laid his hands to the 
plow. His feet are in the white man’s road.” 

This story is not of me, else I could tell you how beautiful some 
of the white women came to seem to me, and one small girl, fair 
as a spring flower, ensnared my heart and kept me like an eagle 
bound to my perch—only I did not struggle against the golden cord 
that bound me. It was all very strange to me, for I still loved a 
girl of my. own race, who sent me presents of moccasins and who 
wrote through Louis to say she was waiting for me. It was strange, 
I say—for my heart clung to Anita also, she was so fair and slender 
and sweet. She was associated with all the luxury and mystery of 
the white man’s life. She called to me in new ways—ways that 


scared me—while Oma spoke to something deeper in me—something 
[206] 


The Silent Eaters 


akin to the wide skies, the brown hills, the west wind, and the smell 
of the lodge fire. 

How it would have ended I don’t know, had not my friend Davies 
been sent again into the West. His going ended my stay in the East. 
Without him I was afraid to remain among the white people. 

“The time has come for you to return, Japi,” he said to me. 
“The white men are moving to force a treaty upon the Sioux, and 
now is your time to help them.” 

It was very hard to say good-by to my friend, and harder yet 
to my Anita, who loved me, but who told me she could not go with 
me, though she wished to do so. “I cannot leave my poor mother, 
who is sick and poor,” she said. 

I was not very wise, but I knew that I had no place, not even a 
lodge, in which to keep her, and so I said: “I will go on before you 
and prepare a place for you, and then sometime you will come and 
you will help me to teach my people how to live?”’ 

To this she gave me promise and I went away very sad, for it 
seemed a long way from Standing Rock to Washington, and espe- 
cially to a poor Sioux who knew of no way to earn money. 

Some friends joined with my friend, the white soldier chief, to 
buy some clothes for me, and a few presents for my father and 
mother, and so, with a heart so big I thought it would burst within 
me, I took the cars for the West. 

I sat without moving for hours—all night long—while the terrible 
engine of the white man’s fashioning sped into the darkness. At 
dawn I looked out anxiously to see if the land were familiar, but 
it was not. Only on the third day did it begin to awaken echoes in 
my brain. My command of English words will not permit me to 
express the wild thrill of my heart as I looked out of my window 
and saw again the wide-lying plains of Dakota, marked by the feet 
of the vanished buffalo. I was getting home! 

Five years is a long time when it involves such mental changes 


as had come to me. It seemed that half a lifetime had passed since 
[207] 








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I sorrowfully took the steamer to go down the river to learn the 
white man’s language. I was a wild-eyed, long-haired lad then. 
Now I was returning, clipped and clothed like a white man, yet in 
my heart a Sioux. 

There were changes in the country, but not so great as I had 
expected. Even the white man makes but little mark on these 
arid levels. The cabins were grayer, the fields a little larger, that 
was all. After dispossessing my people and destroying the buffalo, 
the white settlers had discovered that it was a grim country for their 
uses. Their towns seemed small and poor and sad. 

My heart came into my throat as I crossed the Cannonball and 
entered upon Sioux land and saw the yellowed tepees of our cousins, 
the Yanktonaise, scattered irregularly along the river. This was 
still the land of my fathers; this much we had retained of all the 
bright world which had been ours in the olden, splendid days! 

It was in June and the grass was still green. Herds of ponies 
were feeding on the swells, and one of the horses I drove lifted his 
head and neighed; he, too, remembered the old freedom. The sky 
blazed with light and the hills quivered as if in ecstasy of living. 
The region was at its best, delusively beautiful. I knew its moods. 
I knew how desolate and pitiless those swells could be in midwinter, 
how dry and hot of breath in July. 

As we topped the hill I met a man driving a small team to a heavy 
wagon. He wore a wide hat which lay on his shoulders, and big 
smoked goggles hid his eyes. As he came opposite I perceived that 
he was a Sioux, and I called to him in my native tongue. . 

“Wait, my friend. Where are you going so fast?” 

He turned his big glasses on me and said: 

‘First of all, who are you that speak Lakota so badly?” 

*T am Iapi, the son of Shato.”’ 

‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, with a smile. “In that case you are getting 
back from school? I know you, for I am Red Thunder!” 


Red Thunder! I was silent with astonishment. A picture of 
[208] 


The Silent Eaters 


him as I saw him in 1876 rose in my mind. Tall and lithe he was 
then, with keen, fierce eyes, the leader of the war faction among 
the Yanktonaise, a wonderful horseman, reckless and graceful. 
Now here he sat in a white man’s wagon, bent in the shoulders 
and clad in badly fitting agency clothing. My heart was sick 
as I said: 

*‘Friend, you are changed since the council on the Powder 
River. I did not know you.” 

He took off his glasses and put aside his hat; his smile also passed 
away. He looked away to the west: 

**My son, that is long ago and Red Thunder’s blood is no longer 
made from buffalo meat. His muscles are weak. He prefers to 
sit in his wagon and drive his ponies. The Great Spirit has forgotten 
his red children and the White Father is in command over us. I do 
the best I can. The old trails are closed; only one remains—the 
one made by Washington.” 

I drove on, my exultation utterly gone. If Red Thunder was 
of this bitter mood, how would I find the Uncapappas who had been 
the conservatives of the tribe? 

I passed close by some of the cabins and they disheartened me, 
they were so small and dirty. I was glad to see that some of them 
still retained the sweat lodge. Each home consisted of a shack and 
two or three tepees of canvas, and women were cooking beneath 
bowers made of cottonwood as of old. Their motions, and the 
smell of smoke, awoke such memories in me that I could hardly 
keep from both shouting and weeping. 

The farther I went the more painful became the impression made 
upon me by these captives. They were like poor white farmers, 
ragged, dirty, and bent. The clothes they wore were shoddy gray 
and deeply repulsive to me. Their robes of buffalo, their leggins of 
buckskin, their beaded pouches—all the things I remembered with 
pride—had been worn out (or sold). Even the proud warriors of 


my tribe were reduced to the condition of those who are at once 
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prisoners and beggars. My heart was like lead as I reached the 
agency. 

It hurt me to do so, but I reported at once to the agent and 
asked leave to visit my father and mother. 

“They are expecting you,” he said. “You'll find them camped 
just beyond the graveyard.” 

I am glad that I saw my father and mother first in their tepee. 
My mother was cooking beneath a little shed of canvas. I called 
to her, and when she looked at me, without knowing me, something 
moved deep down in my heart. How brown and old and wrinkled 
she looked! Then I said, “Don’t you know me, mother!” 

Then her voice rose as she came hurrying to me, calling: “My 
son! My son has returned.” 

She took my hand, not daring to put her arms around me, for 
I looked, she said, exactly like the white man, but I pressed her 
hands, and then, while she sang a little song of joy, my father 
came out of his lodge and came slowly toward me.. 

I will not dwell on this meeting. I inquired at once concerning 
our chief. “He is still living in the same place near Rock Creek, 
and wishes to see you at once,” said my father. ‘“‘The white men 
are trying to get our land again and the chief wants to have a talk 
about it with you.” 

“Let us go down and see him to-night,” I replied, and for this 
reason we broke camp and started away across the plains. 

It was a strange thing to me to help my father harness a team to 
a wagon. He whom I had seen a hundred times riding foremost in 
the chase, whom I had watched at break of day leading a band of 
scouts up the steep side of a sculptured butte, or with gun in hand 
guarding The Sitting Bull as he slept, was now a teamster, and I, 
clothed in the white man’s garments, was sad and ashamed. I 
could not but perceive that we were both more admirable as red 
warriors than as imitation Saxon farmers. That is my red blood, 


you see. 
[210] 


The Silent Eaters 


But my father was proud of me and of my power to converse 
with the agent. “‘My son,” he said, “our hearts are big because you 
are back with us. Now this is your duty. You must listen to all 
that the commissioners say and tell us minutely so that we may not 
be deceived. We hear that a big council sent out the papers which 
Washington wishes us to put our mark on, but The Sitting Bull 
and most of our head men are agreed that we will never do so. 
Once before, three years ago, they tried to get us to sell, but when 
the white men grew angry and said, ‘If you don’t do this we will take 
your lands anyway!’ The Sitting Bull rose and said, ‘You are 
crazy, and with a motion of his hand broke up the council and we 
all went away. Now the traitorous whites are coming again and 
we need you to listen and tell us what they say.” 

I knew of the council he spoke of—General Logan was the man 
who had threatened them—but I had not heard that the chief had 
dismissed the sitting. It showed me that The Sitting Bull was 
still chief. This I remarked. 

“Yes,” said my father, “he is head man of all the Sioux even 
yet, but the agent has set his hand against him. He gives favor to 
The Grass and The Gall and The Gray Eagle, who are all jealous 
and anxious to be set above The Sitting Bull. The agent has become 
bitter toward our chief because he will not do as he says, and because 
our father works always for the good of his people. He does nothing 
for himself alone, like many others.”’ 

As we came to the top of the hill and looked into the valley my 
father pointed at a small two-room log cabin and said, “There he 
lives, The Sitting Bull.” 

The chief was in a big tepee which stood near the house, and as 
we entered we found him entertaining Slohan and Katolan. He was 
seated in the center, cutting tobacco, while his guests ate from a dish 
of bread and meat. As I stood in the presence of these my honored 
leaders my heart swelled with longing for the good old time. Here 


was the dignity and the courtesy of the days of the. buffalo. The 
[211] 








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chief was partly in white man’s dress, but his hair was worn as of old 
and his gestures were those of a gentle host. His dignity, as well as 
the gravity of all the men, impressed me deeply. 

He did not at first recognize me, but greeted my father, who, 
turning to me, said, “This is my son, returned from Washington.” 

Then the chief smiled, and cried out: “Ho, my son! I am glad 
to see you. I have heard you were coming. You look so like a 
white man my eyes were blinded. You must tell me all you have 
done and all you have heard.” 

I shook hands with each of the old men and took a seat near the 
chief, to whom I said: “Is all well with you? Does the agent treat 
you fairly?” 

His face darkened, but he filled his pipe before he replied. “‘ The 
agent is no longer my friend. He orders me about as if I were a 
dog. He refuses me permission to leave the reservation and checks 
me in every way. I think he means to break me, but he will never 
set his foot on my neck.” 

I was eager to understand the situation, and I listened carefully 
while the others talked of the many injustices under which they 
suffered. The chief urged me to write to Washington to have things 
changed. 

I agreed to do so, but promised nothing more, for I well knew 
such letters might work harm to those I loved. I foresaw also that 
my position in my tribe was to be most difficult. 

“We are ready to live the new life,’ declared the chief, “but we 
cannot farm the soil as the agent wishes. Go look at our fields. 
Each year they are burned white by the sun. The leaves of the 
corn are even now rolled together. The wheat is beginning to dry 
up. There is no hay and our rations are being cut down.” 

I could see that he had no heart in his farming. The life was too 
hard and too bitter. He was indeed like a chained eagle who sits 
and dreams of the wide landscape over which he once floated in 


freedom. He had thrown his influence in the right scale, but he was 
[212] 









































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































2 Fil 
BAA 




































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































Burning the Range 


Taught by experience that burning the grass insures its 
better growth, we are here shown Indians in the act of 
burning their range. Ina day or two after the fire sweet, 
succulent grasses spring up again, and then the hard- 
worked Indian ponies revel for a short season on the tender 
herbage. 


Illustration from 
BURNING THE RANGE 


Originally published in 
HaARpPER’s WEEKLY, September 17, 1887 

































































































































































































































































































































































An Old-Time Northern Plains Indian 


In order to claim a scalp, the warrior must give the dead 
man the coup. In the illustration the Indian is in the act 
of doing this. In olden times the coup was a stab with a 
weapon, but in later times the Indians were provided with 
coup sticks. Whoever first strikes the victim with the coup 
can rightfully claim the scalp. 


Illustration from 
SOME AMERICAN RIDERS 
by Colonel Theodore Ayrault Dodge, U.S.A. 


Originally published in 
Harper’s MaGazinzg, May, 1891 
























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































- 
ww 
a“ 


The Silent Eaters 


critical and outspoken upon all debatable questions, and this had 
come to anger the agent, who was eager to push all the people into 
what he called “self-supporting ways.” This the chief did not 
oppose, though he could not live in the white man’s country. “It 
makes me both weary and sorrowful,” he said. 

It did not take me more than a day to see that I was between 
two fires. My friends were all among those whom the agent called 
“The irreconcilables,” and my chief was relying upon me to help 
them defeat the treaty for their lands, at the same time that the 
agent expected me to be a leader of the progressive party. It was 
not easy to serve two masters, and I was forced to be in a sense 
double tongued, which I did not like. 

The agent was outspoken against my chief. “The old man is 
spoiled by newspaper notoriety,” he said to me. “His power must 
be broken. He is a great and dangerous reactionary force and he 
and all the old-time chiefs must be stripped of their power and 
made of no account before the tribe can advance. He must be 
taught that I am the master here and that no redskin has any 
control.” 

To this I made no reply, for I could not agree with him. A man 
who is a chief by virtue of his native ability cannot be degraded 
and made of no account. The Sitting Bull was a chief by force of 
character. As of old he worked for the good of his people. If he 
saw a wrong he went forthwith to the agent and asked to have it 


: - righted. This angered the agent, for he considered the chief officious. 


- Hewas jealous of his position as “little father.’’ He was a good man, 
but he was opinionated and curt and irascible. He gave no credit 
tomy chief. When the others made him spokesman of their council 


he would not listen to him. “He is a disturber,” he said. 


Now there are certain record books in the office in which copies 
of all letters are kept, and when I found this out I took time to read 
all that the agent had written of the chief. My position as issue 


clerk permitted me the run of the office, and so when no one was 
[213] 





The Book of the American Indian 


ee 
near I read. I wished to know what had taken place during the 
five years of my absence. 

At first the agent wrote well of the chief. In reply to inquiries 
he said: “Sitting Bull is living here quietly and is getting ahead 
nicely. He is quiet and inoffensive, though proud of his fame as 
a chief.” A year later he wrote of him, ‘“‘ His influence is nonpro- 
gressive, but believers in him are few, while many Indians are his 
enemies.” | 

This I found to be true. Chief Gall and John Grass were both 
honored at his expense. The Grass was a man of intelligence and 
virtue who had early allied himselt with the white man. He was 
a leader of those who saw the hopelessness of remaining in the ways 
of the fathers, and naturally the agent treated him with marked 
courtesy. In answer to a letter asking the names of the chief men 
of the tribe he named John Grass first, Mad Bear second, The Gall 
third—and ignored the chief entirely. 

The Gall, already jealous of the great fame of The Sitting Bull, 
was easily won over to the side of the agent. He was a vigorous, 
loud-voiced man, brave and manly, but not politic. He had not 
entirely broken with his old chief, but he accepted position under 
the agent and listened to dispraise of The Sitting Bull from the 
agent’s point of view. 

With all his gentleness of manner, the old fire was in The Sitting 
Bull, for he said to me, when speaking of the attack of Shell Fish 
on him: “I am here, old and beaten—a prisoner subject to the word 
of a white master, but no man shall insult me. I will kill the man 
who strikes me. What is death to me? I will die as I have lived, 
a chief.” For the most part he was so quiet and unassuming that 
he was overlooked. He never thrust himself forward; he dreamed 
in silence. 

He had visited the white man’s world several times, but these 
visions had not helped him; they had, indeed, thrown him into 


profound despair. “What can we do in strife with these wonder- 
[214] 





The Silent Eaters 


working spirits?” he asked. ‘“‘Itis as foolish as trying to fly with the 
eagles. The white man owns all the productive land. What can 
we do farming on this hard soil? What are we beside these swarming 
settlers? We are as grasshoppers before a rushing herd of buffalo.” 

He did not care to look out of the car windows on these journeys. 
He and his warriors sat in silence or sang the songs of the chase and 
the victorious homecoming, trying to forget the world outside. 

*“Nothing astonished them and nothing interested them very 
much,” said Louis to me in speaking of his trip to Washington. 
“The chief was at a great disadvantage, but he seldom made a mis- 
take. He was Lakota and made no effort to be anything else.” 

The chief at last said, in answer to all similar requests, “‘I do not 
care to be on show.” 

He was very subjective. He had always been a man of medi- 
tation and prayer, and had scrupulously observed the ceremonials 
of his tribe. Now when he saw no hope of regaining his old freedom 
he turned his eyes inward and pondered. He was both philosopher 
and child. Nature was mysterious, not in the ultimate as with the 
educated man, but close beside him as with a boy. The moon, the 
clouds, the wind in the grass, all these were to him things inexplicable, 
as, indeed, they are to the greatest white men; only to my chief 
they came nearer some way. 

Often during these days I saw him sitting at sunset on his favorite 
outlook—a, hill above his cabin—a minute speck against the sky, 
deeply meditating upon the will of the Great Spirit, and my heart 
was filled with pain. I, too, mourned the world that was passing 
so swiftly and surely. 


VII 
HE OPPOSED ALL TREATIES 


Dvurine my absence the white settlers had swept across the 
ancient home of the Dakotas and were already clamoring for the 


land on which Sitting Bull dwelt, and he was deeply disturbed. He 
[215] 


<<< oar 


The Book of the American Indian 


knew how rapacious these plowmen were and he was afraid of them. 
To his mind our home was pitifully small as it stood, and he urged 
me to look into this threatened invasion at once. 

I did so, and reported to him that a commission was already on 
its way to see us and that they would soon issue a call for us. 

Throwing off his lethargy, he became once more “the treaty 
chief.” Calling a council of all the head men he said to them: 

It will be necessary to choose speakers to represent us at this 
meeting. It is not wise that I should be one of these. Let us council 
upon what we are to do, name our speakers, and be ready for the 
commission when it comes.” 

So they chose John Grass, Mad Bear, Chief Gall, and Big Head 
to speak, and went a few days later to meet the commissioners. 

My people asked for their own interpreter, Louis Primeau, whom 
they trusted, and the council began with everybody in good humor. 
The commissioners rose one after the other and made talk and gave 
out many copies of the treaty. Then the council adjourned. 

That night the head men all met at the lodge of the chief. I 
read the treaty to him, and so did Louie. Again The Sitting Bull 
said: “The pay is too small, and, besides, they have changed our 
boundaries. Do not sign.”’ And so when we assembled the next 
day our speakers declined to sign and the commissioners were much 
disappointed. They argued long and loud, to no effect. 

It was explained to us again that the Government proposed to 
set aside five great reservations, one for the Ogallallahs, one for the 
Brulés, one for the Crow Creek people, one for the Cheyenne River 
people, and that the lines were fixed for the great Sioux nation at 
the Standing Rock. The north boundary was the Cannonball River; 
on the south, the Moreau; but to the west it extended only eighty 
miles. 

Speaking to his head men, our chief said: ‘Who made that line 
on the west? Was it a white man or an Indian? They say the lines 


of the old treaties, whether fixed by the red man or the white man, 
[216] 





The Silent Eaters 





must stand. But I do not grant that treaty. It was stolen from us. 
We have paid for all they have done for us, and more. They have 
never fulfilled a treaty. See the pitiful small land that is left us. 
Do not sign. If you sign we are lost.” 

The commissioners, hitherto displeased, now became furious. 
They accused The Sitting Bull of intimidating the people. They 
raged and expostulated. They wheedled and threatened, but the 
chief shook his head and said: “Do not sign. This man is talking 

for the white man’s papers, and not for us. He uses many words, 
but he does not deceive me. Do not listen to him.” And they 
laughed at the false speaker. 

At last Gall, who sat beside the chief, spoke. “‘We are through 
We are entirely finished.” 

Then The Sitting Bull rose and said: ““We have spoken pleasantly 
and have reached this pomt in good humor. Now we are going 
home,” and made a sign and the council broke up in confusion. 

The treaty was not signed and The Sitting Bull was made to 
bear the blame of its defeat. As for me, I exulted in his firmness, 
his self-control, and his simple dignity. He was still the chief man 
of treaties. 

But the white people did not give up. They never recede. The 
defeat of the Democrats made a different Congress and a new at- 
tempt was at once made to get a treaty. Profiting by the mistakes 
of the other commissions, they did not come to the Standing Rock 
first (they feared the opposition of The Sitting Bull); they went 
to the lower reservations and secured all the Santees, all the 
“breeds,” and members of other tribes, men whom my people did 
not recognize as belonging to us. The news of this made my chief 
very angry. “The white men have no sense of justice when they 
deal with us,” he said, bitterly. “They are mad for our lands. 
They will do anything to steal them away.” 

When the commissioners appeared at the Standing Rock they 


were triumphant through General Crook. Rations were short and 
[217] 





The Book of the American Indian 


aie narniss exafrbals gone tathee itis hie era ai 
the people were hungry and General Crook took advantage of this. 
He was lavish of beef issues during the treaty. On the third day he 
said, grufily: “You'd better take what we offer. Congress will open . 
the reservation, anyhow. 

Each night, as before, The Sitting Bull stood opposed to the 
treaty. “It is all we have,” he said, despairingly. “Once we had 
a mighty tract; now it is little. You have bought peace from the 
whites by selling your lands; now when you have no more to sell 
what will you do? I have never entertained a treaty from the whites. 
I am opposed to this. I will not sign. Our lands are few and they 
are bad lands. The white men have shut us up in a desert where 
nothing lives, yet it is our last home. Will your break down the 
walls and let the white man sweep us away? You say we will have 
a great deal of money in return. How has it been in the past? 
How has the government fulfilled its obligations? Congress cuts 
down our rations at will; what they owe us does not matter. You 
have seen how difficult it is to raise food here. We need every 
blanket’s breadth of our land if we are to live. I am getting to be 
an old man; a few years and I will be with my fathers; but before 
I go I want to see my children provided for. Let the government 
pay us what they owe us in cattle and we will then be able to live. 
I will not sign.” . 

That night John Grass gave way. The commission convinced. 
him that this treaty was the best that could be secured. A new 
council was hastily called in order to get The Grass to sign, and my 
chief was not informed of it till the hearing was nearly over. 

As he came into the room he was both angry and despairing, and 
demanded a chance to speak. “I have kept in the background so 
far,” he said. ‘‘Now I wish to be heard fs 

But they were afraid of him and refused to hear him. “We want 
no more speaking. John Grass come forward and sign!” 

Grass went forward. The Sitting Bull cried out in a piercing 


voice: “Do not sign! Let everybody follow me.” 
[218] 





The Silent Eaters 


At his command all his old guard rose and went away, but John 
Grass took the pen and signed. He was the man of the hour; he 
represented a compromise policy. He was willing to be the white 
man’s tool. And I, sitting there as interpreter, powerless to aid my 
chief in his heroic fight for the remnant of the empire that was 
ours, could only bow my head in acknowledgment of the widsom 
of the majority—for I knew the insatiable white man better than 
John Grass. To have rejected the treaty would have but delayed 
the end. 

My chief went to his lodge, still the Uncapappa, still unsubdued, 
representing all that was distinctive and admirable in the old life of 
the chase; but he knew now that the white man possessed the earth. 

“This is now the end,” he said, sorrowfully, to my father. 
“Nothing remains to us but a home in the Land of the Spirits.” 


VIitl 
THE RETURN OF THE SPIRITS 


THE year that followed the signing of this treaty was a dark 
one for the Sitting Bull. Even those who had been most clearly 
acquiescent in the white man’s way grew sad. 

You must remember that my people, the Uncapappas, are the 
westernmost branch of the great Sioux nation and had known but 
little of the white man up to the time of their surrender in 1880. 
We knew nothing of tilling the soil. We were essentially buffalo 
hunters and had been for many generations. The Yanktonaise, the 
Menneconjous, had far greater knowledge of the white man’s ways. 
In the days when they occupied the whole of the upper Mississippi 
Valley we still kept our western position, always among the buffalo 
and the elk. Our tepees were still made of skins. 

Can you not see that these horsemen of the plains—these 
wandering, fearless, proud hunters—even under the best conditions 
would have found it very hard to give up the roving life of the chase 


and settle down to the planting of corn and squashes? 
[219] 


The Book of the American Indian 


It is easy to clip the wings of eagles, but it is not of much avail 
to beat them and give command that they instantly become geese. 
Under every fostering condition it would have been difficult for 
Slohan and Gall and Sitting Bull to become farm laborers. : 

I call upon you to be just to my great chief, for he honestly tried 
to take on this new life. I assert that no man of his spirit and 
training could have done more. He tried hard to be as good as his 
word; for witness I call the agent himself who in those early days 
said of him: “‘The Sitting Bull is living here peaceably and doing 
well.” Even up to the month of November in 1888, the year of 
the first commission, he praised him. It was afterward that the 
agent changed his mind and began to abuse him. [I will tell presently 
why this was so. 

You see the white people allowed us no time to change. We 
had been many centuries forming habits which they insisted should 
be broken instantly. They cut us off from our game. They ordered 
us to farm, and this without knowing the character of our reser- 
vation. The soil of this country is very hard and dry and the 
climate is severe. It is high, upland prairie cut by a few thin, slow 
streams which lie in deep gullies. The upland grows a short, dry 
grass, and there are many years when it is dry as hay in early June. 
It is good for pasture, but it makes very little hay for winter. It is 
a drought country; for the most part the crops burn up under the 
fierce sun and the still more savage wind. In winter it is a terrible 
place to live unless one is sheltered by the cottonwood and willow 
groves on the river. It was given us originally because they thought 
it useless to the plowmen. 

On this stern land the white man set my people and said, in a 
terrible voice, ““Farm or die!” We tried, but year by year the trial 
ended in failure. Wrong implements were given us, great plows 
which our ponies could not draw, and bad seeds, and this outlay 
exhausted our annuity and cut us off from cattle issues. Our 


friends among the white people early began to see the folly of trying 
[220] 


The Silent Eaters 


to force us to till this iron soil, and urged the issue of cattle, but the 
giving of useless things was thereupon taken as an excuse for not 
issuing stock, and when at last they were sent—a few cows and 
sheep—too few to be of any use, they were used as warrant to cut 
down our rations, which (as the chief constantly asserted) were not 
a gratuity, but a just payment. 

They had never been enough even when they were honestly and 
fully issued, and when the quality was bad or the issue cut down 
many of them were actually hungry for three days in the week. You 
may read in one of the great books of the government these words: 
“Suddenly and almost without warning they were called upon to 
give up all their ancient pursuits and without previous training 
settle down to agriculture in a land largely unfitted for such uses. 
The freedom of the chase was exchanged for the idleness of the 
camp. The boundless range abandoned for the circumscribed 
reservation, and abundance of plenty supplanted by limited and 
decreasing subsistence and supplies. Under these circumstances 
it is not in human nature not to be discontented and restless, 
even turbulent and violent.” So said the Commissioner of Indian 
Affairs. 

In spite of all these things I assert my people were patient. 
The Sitting Bull was careful to do nothing which would harm his 
people, and often he walked away in silence from the agent’s 
harsh accusation. 

Hunger is hard to bear, but there were many other things to 
make life very barren and difficult. Around us to north and east 
and west the settlers were swarming. Our reservation seemed such 
a little thing in comparison with our old range—like a little island 
in great water. Every visit our head men made to the east or the 
west taught them the gospel of despair. The flood of white men 
which had been checked by the west bank of the Missouri now 
flowed by in great streams to the west and curled round to the 


north. Everywhere unfriendly ranchers set up their huts. They 
[221] 


rn a a Sar NEE SA SLT SE A SIRS SLA ASE, LS RT EIS DEANS) SELLE ELLE 


The Book of the American Indian 


SR NNN rns ee Ate aS US 
all wore guns, while we were forbidden to do the like. They hated 
us as we hated them, but they had all the law on their side. 

Thus physically we were being submerged by the rising tide of 
an alien race. In the same way our old customs and habits were 
sinking beneath the white man’s civilization. One by one our songs 
were dying. One by one our dances were being cut off by the 
government, and our prayers and ceremonies, sweet and sacred to 
us, were already discountenanced or positively forbidden. Our 
beautiful moccasins were tabooed, our buckskin beaded shirts 
replaced by ragged coats. Our women were foolish in the dress of 
cheap white women. We became a tribe of ragamuffins like the 
poor men whom the newspapers make jokes about and call “hoboes.” 

Let me tell you farther. You cannot understand my people if 
you consider the white man’s religion and the white man’s way of 
life the only ones sanctioned by the Great Spirit. 

My friends in Washington, the men with whom I studied, gave 
me this thought. There is good in all religions and all races and I 
am trying to write of the wrongs of my people from that point of 
view. The Sitting Bull loved the old life, but he often said: “We 
were living the life the Great Spirit outlined for us. We knew no 
other. If you can show us that your manner of life is better, that 
it will make us happier, then we will come to your way,” and for a 
time he thought that perhaps the white man’s way of life was nearer 
to the Great Spirit’s will; but when he was cold and hungry he felt 
the injustice of this superior race, and doubted. 

We all saw that as the years went on and the old joys slipped 
away no new ones came to take their places, while want, a familiar 
foe, remained close to every fireside. Our best thinkers perceived 
that fine large houses and nice warm clothing were unattainable to 
vast numbers of the white men, “‘how then can the simple red man 
hope to win them?” ‘They began to say: “We have given our 
freedom, our world, our traditions, for a dark cabin, hard, cruel 


boots, the settler’s contempt, and the soldier’s diseases.” “Our 
[222] 





The Silent Eaters 


race is passing away. The new conditions destroy us. If we cannot 
persist as Sioux, why persist at all? There are enough white beggars 
in the world, why add ourselves to the army of the poor?” 

It was for this reason that the chief opposed the treaty sub- 
dividing the reservation. “Our strength is in being a people. As 
individuals the white man will spit on us.” When the treaty was 
about to be executed a white man said to him: “ What do you Indians 
think of it?” 

He drew himself up and the old-time fire flamed in his eyes as he 
said: “Indians! There are no Indians left but me.” But later he 
said, sadly: “It is impossible for me to change. I cannot sign, but 
my children may sign if they wish.” 

Just at this time our cattle began to die of a strange disease and 
our children were seized by a mysterious malady which the white 
people call grippe, but for which we had no name. We were without 
medicine to counteract these fevers, and the agency doctor could 
not do much for us. Our children died in hundreds. This was 
terrible. It seemed that all were to be swept away. 

Bishop Hare and General Miles both saw and reported upon 
these conditions, and I wrote to all my friends in agony of haste, 
but the government was slow to act in our need, though it was ever 
in haste to cut up our land and give it away. No one cared what 
became of us. We had no votes, we could not help any man to 
office. All promises were neglected, and to add to our misery it was 
said the new administration would still further reduce our payments 
and the rations which were our due. When this news came to us it 
seemed as if the very earth on which we stood was sinking beneath 
our feet. The old world of the buffalo, the free life of the past, 
became each day more beautiful as the world about us, the prison 
in which we lived, grew black with the clouds of despair. 

In this moment of hopeless misery—this intolerable winter of 
tragic dejection—there came to my people the rumor of something 


very wonderful. A messenger to my chief said that far in the west, 
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at the base of a vast white mountain, a wondrous medicine man had 
descended from a cloud to meet and save the red men. Just as 
Christ came long ago to the Jews, so now the Great Spirit had sent a 
messenger to the red people to bring back the old world of the 
buffalo and to repeople its shining vistas with those who had died. 
So they said, “By faith and purity we are to again prevail over that 
earth.” 

It was a seed planted at the right time in the right soil. In the 
night of his despair my chief listened to the message as to a sweet 
story, not believing it, yet eager to hear more. 

The herald of the new faith was a Brulé, who ended by saying: 
“The Kicking Bear, one of our chiefs, is gone to search into the 
beginning of this story. He it was who sent me to you. He wished 
me to acquaint you with what he had heard.” 

**When he returns,” replied the chief, “‘tell him I wish to talk 
with him of this strange thing.” 

A report of this man’s message spread among the people and 
many believed it. We began to hear obscurely about a new dance 
which some of the people at Rosebud and Pine Ridge had adopted— 
a ceremony to test the faith of those who believed—a medicine dance 
to bring back the past—and the people brooded upon the words of 
the Brulé, who said that the world of the buffalo was to be restored 
to them and all the old customs and joys brought back. 

It was a magical thought. Their deep longing made it expand in 
their minds like a wonderful flower, and they waited impatiently 
the coming of the herald. 

You must not forget that every little word my people knew 
of the Christian religion prepared them for this miraculous change. 
The white man’s religion was full of miracles like this. Did not 
Christ raise men from the dead? Was he not born of a Virgin and 
did he not change water into wine? The wise men of the Bible, we 
were told, were able to make the sun stand still, and once the walls 


of a great city crumbled before the magic blast of rams’ horns. 
[224] 


The Silent Eaters 


Many times we had heard the preachers, the wise men of the white 
men, say: “By faith are mountains removed,” therefore our minds 
were prepared to believe in the restoration of the world of the 
buffalo. Was it not as easy for the Great Spirit as to make the 
water cover the highest mountains? My friend the Blackbird used 
to say “‘Every race despises the superstitions of others, but clings to 
its own.” Iam Sioux, I could not help being thrilled by this story. 

My brain responded to every story the old man told. I saw again 
the splendid reaches of the plain. I rode in the chase of the buffalo. 
I heard the songs of rejoicing as the women hung the red meat up 
to dry. I played again among the lodges. Yes, it was all very 
sweet to dream about, but I said to the chief: “I have been among 
the white people; I have studied their books. The world never 
turns backward. We must go on like the rivers, on into the mystery.” 

“We will see,” he answered. “I have often reproved you for 
saying, ‘Yes, yes,’ to all that the white man says. This may be all 
a lie. The Kicking Bear has gone forth into the west to meet this 
wonder worker. When he returns we will council upon his report. 
Till then we will do nothing.” 

But no power could prevent the spread of the story and its 
dream among my people. They were quick to seize and build upon 
this slender promise. Can you not understand our condition of 
mind? Imagine that a great and powerful race had appeared from 
over the sea and had driven your people from their ancestral lands, 
on and on, until at last only a handful of you remained. Imagine 
this handful corralled in a small, bleak valley cut off from all 
natural activities, its religions tabooed, its dances and ceremonies 
forbidden, hungry, cold, despairing. Could you then be logical and 
reasonable and completely sane? 

If my race had been a servile race, ready to play the baboon, 
quick to imitate, then it would not have vanished, as it has, in war 
and famine. We are freemen. We had always been unhampered 


by any alien laws. We moved as we willed, led by the buffalo, 
[225] 


‘one. 


¥ 





The Book of the American Indian 





directed by the winds, cowering only before the snows. Therefore, 
we resented the white man’s restrictions. We had the hearts of 
eagles in our cages, and yet, having the eyes of eagles and the brains 
of men, we came at last to see the utter futility of struggle. We 
lost all faith in physical warfare and sat down to die. As a race we 
were resigned to death, and in this night of our resignation the star 
of prophecy rose. We turned toward the mystic powers for aid. 


IX 
THE MESSAGE OF KICKING BEAR 


OnE October day in 1890 a party of Brulé Sioux from the 
Cheyenne River agency came riding down into the valley of the 
Grand River, inquiring for The Sitting Bull. As they were pass- 
ing my father’s lodge he came out and stopped them. 

“What do you want of The Sitting Bull?” he asked, with the 
authority of one of the old-time “Silent Eaters.” 

“We bring a message to him,” replied the headman. “I am 
Kicking Bear. Take us to him without delay.” 

The chief at this time lived with his younger wife in a two-room 
log house (a cabin for his first wife stood near) and as the strangers 
came to the door they were accosted by an old woman who was at 
work about the fire under an open lodge. In answer to my father’s 
inquiry for the chief she pointed toward a large tepee standing 
behind the house, and, turning aside, my father lifted the doorflap 
and entered. The chief was alone, smoking his pipe in grave 
meditation. 

**Father,” said my sire, “here are some men from the Cheyenne 
River to see you.” 

“TI am Kicking Bear,” said the visitor, “for whom you sent.” 

The chief greeted his visitors with gentle courtesy and motioned 
them to their seats. “My friends, I am glad to see you. You are 
hungry. Rest and eat. When you are filled and refreshed we will 


talk.” Then callmg to his wife to put food before the guests, he 
[226] 








An Indian Chief 


Illustration from 
A BUNCH OF BUCKSKINS 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published by 
R. H. Russet, 1901 





The Silent Eaters 


smoked quietly while they ate. When they were satisfied and all 
were composed and comfortable he said to Kicking Bear: “Now, 
my friend, my ears are open.” 

The visitor’s voice was full of excitement, but well under control 
at first. He said: 

“My friend, we all know you; your fame is wide. You are the 
head of all our people. We know it. You have always been true 
to the ways of the fathers. You fought long and well against the 
coming of the whites. Therefore I come to you. This is the story: 
The first people to know of the Messiah on earth were the Shoshones 
and the Arapahoes. A year ago Good Thunder, the Ogallallah, 
hearing of this wonderful story, took four of his friends and went to 
visit the place where the wonder-working Son of the Great Spirit 
was said to be. He was gone many days, but at last he sent word 
that he had found the Messiah, that he was among those who eat 
fish, far toward the high white mountains, and he asked that I come 
and bear witness. Thereupon I also went—with much fear. After 
many days I found the place. It was deep in a strange country— 
a desert country. Many people were camped there. All tongues 
were spoken, yet all were at peace. It was said that sixteen different 
tribes were present, and that they had all come, as I had done, to 
know the truth. No one thought of war. All strife was put away.” 

The Sitting Bull listened with half-closed eyes, weighing every 
word. It was plain, my father told me, that Kicking Bear was 
struggling to control his emotion. One by one the chief’s family 
gathered around the tepee to listen. It was a momentous hour. 

“They put up robes in a circle to make a dancing place,” 
resumed the messenger, “and we all gathered there about sundown. 
It was said that the Messiah was ready to appear and teach us a 
new religion. Just after dark some one said, ‘There is the Great 
Father.’ I looked and saw him sitting on one side of the circle. 
I did not see him come. I do not know how he got there. The light 


of the fire fell on him and I saw him plainly. He was not so dark as 
[227] 








‘ 





The Book of the American Indian 





a red man, but he was not a white man. He was a good-looking 
person with a kind, wise face. He was dressed in white and had no 
beard or mustache. One by one all the chiefs drew near to greet 
him. I went with the others, but when I came near I bowed my 
head; his eyes were so keen they blinded me. Then he rose and 
began to sing, and those who had been there before, began to dance 
in the new ceremony. 

“When we stopped dancing for a little while he spoke, saying, 
‘My children, I am glad to have you here. I have a great deal to 
say to you. I am the Son of the Great Spirit, sent to save you from 
destruction.’ We were very still as he spoke; no one whispered; 
all listened. He spoke all languages, so that we could understand. 
‘I am the Creator of this earth and everything you see about you. 
I am able to go to the world of the dead, and I have seen all those 
you have lost. I will teach you to visit the ghost world also; that 
is the meaning of the dance. Once long ago I came to the white 
people, but they misused me. They put nails in my feet. See the 
scars!’ And he held up his hands and we saw the scars.” 

The Sitting Bull gave a startled exclamation: “Hoh! You saw the 
scars!’ 

“TI saw them plainly,” the Kicking Bear solemnly replied, as 
words of wonder ran round the tepee, “and all my friends saw them 
as plainly as I. Then the Messiah said: ‘I found my white children 
bad and I returned to the Great Spirit, my Father. I told them that 
after many hundreds of years I would return. Now am I returned, 
but this time I come to the red people. 

“I come to teach you a new religion and to make you happy. I 
am to renew the earth, which is old and worn out. If you follow 
my teaching, if you do as I bid you, I will bring to pass marvelous 
things. This is the message of my Father the Creator. He has been 
displeased with his children. He has turned his face away from the 
red people for many years. If you had remained true to the ways of 


the fathers these misfortunes would not have come upon you. You 
[228] 


The Silent Eaters 


would not now be shut up by the white man, you would be free and 
happy as of old. But the heart of the Great Spirit is again soft 
toward you and he bids me say, “If you will live according to the 
ways of the Saviour whom I have sent among you I will again smile 
upon you. I will cause the white man to disappear from the earth, 
together with all the marks he has made with the plow and the 
ax. I will cause the old world to come back. It will slide above the 
present earth as one hand slides above the other; the white man 
and all his works will be buried and the red man will be caught up 
in the air and put down on this old earth as it returns, and he will 
find the buffalo and the elk, the deer and the antelope, feeding as 
of ancient days on the rich grass. The rifle will be no longer neces- 
sary nor the white man’s food or clothing. All will be as it was in the 
days of our fathers. No one will grow old, no one will be sick, no 
one will die. All will be glad and happy once more.’””’ 

As he talked The Kicking Bear grew greatly excited. He rose 
and his voice rang loud and clear. The women began to moan, 
but the Chief sat still, very still; his time to speak had not yet 
come. | 
The Kicking Bear went on. “He commanded that we put all 
evil thoughts aside. We must not fight or take from one another 
any good thing. We must be friends with everyone—with the 
white man, too. Our hearts must be clean and good. 

“He also taught us the dance and new methods of purification, 
and these he commanded me to carry to you.” In this way The 
Kicking Bear ended, addressing the chief: “This is the message, 
father, and this is the promise: If all the red people unite, casting 
away all that is of the white man, praying and purifying themselves, 
then will the old world come back—the old happy world of the buffalo, 
and all the dead ones of our race will return, a mighty host, driving the 
buffalo before them.” 

The chief sat in silence for a long time, and when he spoke his 


voice was very quiet, with a sad cadence. “This would please me 
[229] 


i 





The Book of the American Indian 


well. But how do I know that it is not a lie? What proof is there 
that all these good things will come to pass? The invader is strong. 
I have given up war because I know it is foolish to fight against him. 
I have seen his land to the east. I know that he has devoured forests 
and made corn to grow where deep waters once rolled. He is more 
numerous than the buffalo ever were. All the red men of all the 
plains and hills cannot defeat him. It is hopeless to talk of driving 
him back.” 

“That is true,” replied The Kicking Bear, “‘but you have heard 
how the white man’s Bible speaks of these things. In the olden 
time, they say, when the people despaired of weapons and war they 
began to pray to their Great Spirit, and he sent unseen powers to 
help them. They tell of cities that fell at sound of a trumpet. We 
are to fight no more with weapons. It is of no avail to use the 
ax. We must please the Great Spirit; we must beseech him to 
turn his face upon us again and our enemies will melt away.” 

“But what proof is there of this? It is all a tale. It is as the 
sound of a pleasant breeze in the trees.” 

“The proof is in this,” earnestly replied The Kicking Bear. “In 
this dance, men are able to leave the body and fly far away and 
look upon the spirits of the dead, and to ride the old-time plains in 
pursuit of the buffalo. I have myself seen this old world waiting to 
be restored. Let us call a council. Let us dance and some of your 
own people—perhaps The Sittmg Bull himself—will be able to 
leave the body and visit the wonderful world of the spirit and 
return to tell the people of it! Let us dance; the proof will come.” 

To this the chief made cautious reply: “We will not be hasty. 
Remain with us and we will talk further of these things.” 

To Slohan he said: “This man talks well. He claims to have 
been in the west and to have seen the Messiah; yet we must be 
careful. We will look minutely into the matter. We must not 
seem foolish.” Then he turned again to the Brulé. “‘ When is this 
good change to come to us?” 





[230] 





The Silent Eaters 


“The Father said that if all his words are obeyed he will cause 
the new earth to come with the springing grass.” 

“Do you believe this story?” asked the chief, pointedly. 

Yes,” 

“What causes your belief?” 

The Kicking Bear became deeply moved; his voice trembled 
as he replied: ‘Because since I touched his hand I have been out of 
the body many times. I too have visited the spirit world, and I 
too have seen the dead, and I have seen the buffalo and the shining 
new world, more beautiful than the old. Since my return I often see 
the Saviour m my sleep. I know that through him you and all your 
tribe can fly to the spirit world and see your friends. Therefore 
have I come that I may teach you the songs and the dances which 
bring the trance and the vision.” 

“You speak of the destruction of the white people. How is 
that to be brought about?” asked the chief. 

“All by great magic. War is useless. All who believe must 
wear an eagle plume, and when the new earth comes sliding over 
the old, those who wear the sacred feather will be caught up and 
saved, while the white man and all those who reject the Father’s 
message will be swept down and buried deep.”” Then the messenger 
cried out with passion: “Father, they are all dancing—the Piutes, the 
Shoshones, the Ogallallahs, the Cheyennes—all the people. Hear me! 
I bring a true message! Listen, I implore!” 

He began to sing, and his companions joined him. The song they 
sang was strange to my father, and very, very sad—as dolorous 
as the wind in the bare branches of the elm tree. It was not a war 
song; it was a mourning cry that made all hearts melt. As they 
sang, Kicking Bear began to tremble, and then his right arm began 
to whirl about wildly as if it were a club. Then he fell stiffly to 
the ground like a man in a fit. 

The Sitting Bull rose up quickly. “Hah! What is the meaning 


of this?” he asked, looking about him warily. 
[231] 





The Book of the American Indian 


> 


“He has gone into a trance,” said one of the others. “He is 
even now in the spirit world. Do not touch him.” . 

For a long time the messenger lay as if dead and no one dared 
disturb him. My chief sat smoking, patiently waiting for Kicking 
Bear to speak. At last he came to life again and sat up. “I have 
seen the Father,” he said, with shining face, “and he has given me 
a sign. He has made my left hand stronger than the strongest 
man. Come and see!” He held out his hand and my father took 
it, but it scared him and he flung it away from him. It made his 
muscles contract and his flesh sting as if needles had been thrust 
into it. Then The Bear cried out: ‘‘See! I am telling the truth. I 
have seen the Messiah. He has given me an arm of power for a 
sign. He told me to return and teach The Sitting Bull the new 
religion.” He laid hold of a heavy white cup. “See the sign?’ 
he cried, and ground the cup to pieces on his hand. 

The Sitting Bull was deeply troubled. “We will talk of this to- 
morrow,” and he went away profoundly stirred by what he had 
seen. 

The next morning he called a council of his close friends, and at 
last sent for Kicking Bear, and said: “‘ Your story is sweet in our 
ears. It may be true. I do not think so, but we will try. We have 
come to the time when all weapons are useless. We are despairing 
and weak. Guns are of no avail. The Great Spirit has certainly 
turned his face away. It may be that prayer and song will cause 
him to smile upon us again. You may teach us the dance.” 


X 
THE DANCE BEGINS 


So it was that in the prepared soil of my people’s minds this seed 
of mystery fell. It was not a new religion; it was indeed very old. 
Many other races had believed it; the time was come for the Sioux 
to take it to themselves. In their despair they greedily seized upon 


it. In their enforced idleness they welcomed it. 
[232] 








The Silent Eaters 


Swiftly the news flew, wildly exaggerated, of course. It was 
said that the Messiah had sent a message direct to the chief, and 
that a sign had been given to the courier which had convinced my 
father and many others—though The Sitting Bull yet doubted. 

Uncapappas are like any other folk. There are excitable ones 
and doubting ones, those who believe easily and those who are 
disposed to prove all things. Many old women with sons and 
daughters lately passed to the spirit land laid hold upon this news 
with instant belief. Winter was coming again; food was scarce; the 
children were ailing; life was joyless and held no promise of happier 
things. So, as among the white people, the bereaved were quick to 
embrace any faith which promised reunion. 

At last men of keener intelligence, like my father, considered it, 
saying: “It may be true. The white man hada Saviour. Why 
should not the Great Spirit send one to us? We can at least exam- 
ine into this man’s story. Wecan go and see the dance.” 

Others, who had outgrown the faith of their fathers, and who 
had also rejected the Christian religion, smiled and said, “It is 
foolish!’ Nevertheless, curious to see what was done, they loitered 
near to look on and laugh. 

Last of all were those who brooded bitterly upon the past—the 
chained lions who had never accepted the white man’s dominion, 
who feared nothing but captivity, and who sat ever in their tepees 
with their blankets around them smoking, ruminating, reliving the 
brave, ancient days. ‘‘ We are prisoners,” they said. “‘ We are not 
allowed to leave the narrow bounds of our bleak reservation. We 
can neither hunt nor visit our friends. What is the use of living? 
Why not die in battle? Is it not better to be slain and pass at once 
to the spirit land than to die of starvation and cold? We know the 
fate of the dead cannot be worse than our lot here.” 

In the light of memory the country of their youth was a land of 
waving grass, resplendent skies, rippling streams, shining tepees, 


laughter, song, and heroic deeds. In dreams they were once more 
[233] 


FEC enc ns Sane iasnEt NAST ASTEIESR SSAA RENAN SSN EE SE See MAS ET ES 25 


The Book of the American Indian 


young scouts, selected for special duty. In dreams they rode again 
over the boundless swelling plain, hunting the great black cattle of 
the wild. They lay in wait for the beaver beside streams without a 
name. They sat deep in pits, hearing the roaring rush of the 
swooping eagle, and always when they woke to reality they found 
themselves ragged beggars under the control of a white man, 
betrayed and forgotten by their recreant allies. 

What had they retained of all this mighty heritage? A minute 
patch of barren ground and the blessed privilege of working like a 
Chinaman or anegro. Of all the old-time adventurous, plentiful, and 
peaceful life the white settlers had bereft them. Mile by mile the 
invaders had eaten up the sod. The buffalo, the elk, the beaver had 
disappeared before their guns. Stream after stream they had 
bridged and in the valleys they had set their fences. The agent 
always talked as though every red man who wished could have a 
large house and fruit trees and pleasant things, but it was quite 
certain now that nothing remained for these proud hunters of the 
bison but a practical slavery to the settler; to clean the dung from 
the white man’s stables was their fate. 

With this view the “Silent Eaters” had most sympathy. In 
the days immediately following their return from the north they 
had caught some of the enthusiasm of their teachers. They, too, had 
hoped for some of the good things of the white man’s civilization. 

The Sitting Bull himself had been hopeful. He had spoken bravely 
to them advising them to set their feet in the white man’s road; 
but as the years passed one by one he had felt with ever-increasing 
bitterness the checks and constraints of his warden. He had seen 
sycophants and hypocrites exalted and his own wishes thwarted or 
treated with contempt and his face had grown ever sadder and 
sterner. When he looked into the future he saw the almost certain 
misery and final extinction of his race, so inevitably he, too, had 
turned his eyes inward to dream of the past. Having no hope of 


earthly things, he was now, in spite of himself, allured by the stories 
[234] 


The Silent Eaters 


of this Saviour in the West. Certainly he could not forbid his people 
this comfort. 

He had, too, the natural pride of the leader. He considered 
himself as he was, the head man of his tribe, and it hurt him to find 
himself completely shorn of command. The agent now deliberately 
humiliated him, ignoring his suggestions and misrepresenting him 
among the white men. “These old chiefs must give way,” he said. 
“Tf we are to civilize these Indians, all of the old tribal government 
must be torn up.” And in this he had the support of many friends 
of my race. 

One of the most serious differences existing at this time lay 
in The Sitting Bull’s refusal to recognize the authority of the agent’s 
native police. “I am still the head of my tribe,” he proudly said. 
“I do not need your help in order to keep the peace.” 

Then the agent very shrewdly appointed those who were jealous 
of the chief to be the heads of his police force, and so made sure of 
them in case of trouble. The chief was made to look and feel like a 
man living by sufferance, while renegades whom he despised and 
recreants whom he hated were put in power over him. Yet he was 
bearing all this quietly; he had even submitted to personal abuse, 
rather than prove a disturber. 

This message from the Messiah came, therefore, just at a time 
when the chief and his “Silent Eaters” were suffering their final 
degradation at the hands of the agent. It was hard to die at this 
time like outcast dogs, with no hope for their people. They could 
not understand why they should be made the target of the agent’s 
malice. They had the pride of leadership. It was honorable to be 
a chief. The qualities which went to make a chieftain were not 
mean; they were noble. Why should other and lower men be 
placed in contemptuous authority over them? 

And so these proud spirits shut their eyes to the future and 
longed, as no white man can ever know, for the glorious days of the 


buffalo. 
[235] 


eee FEFTeFeFTeeeeeeeee=aoe"=o=eo="eo=o=E=EOOOeee 
The Book of the American Indian 


For three days The Kicking Bear instructed the few who be- 
lieved, preparing them for the dance. “You must cast aside every- 
thing that the white man has brought to you,” he said. “The 
Messiah commands that all metals be thrown away. Lay down all 
weapons, for this is a dance of peace. It is needful that you dress as 
in the olden time before the invader came. Let each one who dances 
and accepts the word of the Father wear a white eagle plume, for 
this will be a sign when the new earth comes. You will be caught up 
into the clouds by reason of your faith, while all others will perish. 
You must purify yourselves, also, by use of the sweat lodge, and 
after the dance you must bathe in clear, cold water. During this 
time you must put away all anger and harshness and speak kindly to 
all persons. Thus says the Father.” 

There was something lofty in all this and it moved men very 
deeply and the chief listened intently to it all. 

On the third night of his preaching I was present, for my father 
had sent for me to come. After drawing from me a promise to tell 
no white man, he described all that had happened. I was not at 
first impressed. ‘“‘It is foolish,” I said. 

‘‘Nevertheless you must come and see this man. He is a wonder- 
ful magician. I do not understand him.” 

The meeting took plate in the chief’s tepee, which was large 
and strong. As I entered I saw many men and women sitting just 
outside the door in little groups, but only about fifteen people had 
been invited to join the circle which I soon found was formed to 
rehearse some of the ceremonial songs of the Messiah. A small, 
clear fire glowed in the center of the lodge, and the chief’s strong face 
was fixed in its place at the back of the lodge. On his right was The 
Kicking Bear. On his left was a vacant place; this my father took. 
At a sign from the chief I sat next my father. 

Shortly after our entry the chief lit his pipe, and after offering 
it to the Earth Spirits and to the Spirits Above, handed it to his 


visitor. The Bear made the same offering, and after smoking passed 
[236] 












































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A Fantasy from the Pony War Dance 


In this scene 


The acting is fierce—not like the conduct of 


a mimic battle on our stage—but performed with the des- 


Among the many interesting features of the pageant given 
perate zest of men who hope for distinction in war. 


on special occasions by the Blackfoot Indians on their 
reservation in Canada, the most spectacular is the Pony 


War Dance, or the Departure for Battle. 
about sixty young men take part, riding horses as wild as 


themselves. 


Illustration from 


CHARTERING A NATION 


by Julian Ralph 


Originally published in 
Harppr’s Macazine, December, 1891 





Chis-Chis-Chash Seout On the Flanks 


The Cheyenne, or—to use the name the Cheyennes apply 
to themselves—the Chis-Chis-Chash, scouts belonged to the 
corps from Pine Ridge organized on that reservation, and, 
with other Cheyennes from Tongue River, rendered valu- 
able service to Uncle Sam during the Sioux outbreak of 
1890 in South Dakota. In December of that year these 
brave Indians had many a skirmish with the savage Sioux, 
who, clothed in the ghost shirt, went on the war path, taking 
refuge in the Bad Lands—a region that seemed made for 
stratagem and murder, with nothing to witness its mys- 
tertes but the cold blue winter sky. 


Illustration from 
LIEUTENANT CASEY’S LAST SCOUT 
by Frederic Remington 


Originally published in 
Pony Tracks, Harper & Brothers, 1895 

















The Silent Eaters 


it on. So it went round the circle. When the chief had it in his 
hands once more, The Kicking Bear and his five companions rose 
and, stretching their hands to the west, stood still while The Bear 
prayed: 
“O great spirit in the west 

Our Father, 

Take pity on us. We are poor and weak. 

Send us good tidings. 

Help us to see the good land. 

Help us to see our loved ones.” 


Then he began singing a song—a song of promise—and these 


were the words: 
“The Father says so, 
He has promised surely 
You shall see your dead once more. 
They will come to life again. 
You shall see your kindred 
Of the spirit land. 
This the Father saith 
To his faithful ones.” 


This song moved me, though I was a doubter. It was sung with 
great vigor and earnestness. It was the opening song of the dance, 
The Bear explained to us, and then all sat down, and one by one 
the visitors took up and sang the songs they had learned. There 
were many of them and they were based upon the same idea—that 
of a resurrection of the dead, the renewal of the worn-out old earth 
and the return of the buffalo. 

As they sang my head was filled with many great but confused 
thoughts. In that light, with those surroundings, any magic seemed 
possible. It was thus that the disciples of Christ of Galilee came 
together and talked of his message. I had listened often to the 
white man’s religion, and yet the hymns of the martyrs could not 
move me as did these songs. The past and the present fused to- 
gether strangely in my mind as the ancient shining winds blew and 


the old rejoicing days came back. 
[237] 








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You shall reset the tepees. 

You shall eat pemmican once more. 

You shall hang up the buffalo meat. 

And there shall be plenty everywhere. 

You shall live and not die in the old world which returns anew. 
You shall chase the buffalo. 

You shall gayly race on the bright prairie. 


These were the promises of the songs, and as the visitors sang my 
despairing people became like little children; their hearts melted, 
they laughed and wept and shouted in time to the music. Some 
strange power seemed to go with the motions of The Bear’s hands. 
We all seemed to be looking upon the very scenes of which he sang, 
and my throat closed with an emotion I could not control. 

An old man, called Looking Eagle, suddenly rose and, stretching 
forth his hands, cried out in a thrilling voice: 

“TI see it—the new land! I can see the buffalo feeding in myriads. 
It is Spring and the grass is new. My father stands at the door of 
his lodge. He calls with his hand. My mother is there. Ho! I 
come, my father.” 

Then he fell on the ground and The Kicking Bear and his 
friends joined hands and, breaking into a song which made my own 
heart leap, they began to dance in a circle about the fire: 


“The whole world of the dead is returning. 
Our nation is coming, is coming, is coming. 
The eagle has brought us the message, 
Bearing the word of the Father— 

The word and the wish of the Father. 

Over the glad new earth they are coming, 
Our dead come driving the elk and the deer. 
See them hurrying the herds of the bison. 
This the Father has promised, 

This the Father has given.” 


One by one those sitting gave way and rose and joined the dance, 
till only the chief, Slohan, and I remained seated. My father joined 


them at the last, and outside the tepee the voices of women could be 
[238] 








The Silent Eaters 


heard catching and trying the song. It was agonizing to hear. It 
strained every heart to bursting with longing and sadness. 

Suddenly The Bear’s head began to rock violently from side 
to side; it seemed as if it would wrench itself from its place. His 
eyes set in a dreadful stare, his mouth fixed in a horrible gape. Then 
shaking himself free, he fell close to the fire, face downward. 

The others danced for a little while longer, then took seats and 
waited for the return of the spirit of their priest. Looking Eagle 
still slept. 

The Sitting Bull sat in silence, smoking gravely, slowly, but his 
hand trembled. It was plain that he, too, longed to believe in the 
dance, but he could not. My own nerves were quivering with 
the excitement and I waited with almost breathless eagerness for 
the waking of the sleepers. 

It was a long time—it seemed that it was nearly morning—when 
The Bear began to stir again and to rub his eyes as if wakened from 
sleep. He was very quiet and his voice was gentle as he said: “I 
have been with the Father. He gave me another message to The 
Sitting Bull. This it is: ‘All the people to the South are dancing my 
dance. Will the chief of all the Sioux walk behind his nation?’” 

Then the chief said, “When my son there,”’—he touched my arm— 
*‘or one of my trusted warriors can go to the spirit world and return 
to tell me it is true, then I may believe. If this religion is true all 
other deeds are worthless. Bring me proof. My ears are open, my eyes 
are not yet dim. If these songs are true, then I shall weep no more. If 
they are not true, then I wish to die. Let us hold a dance to-morrow.” 
And with a sign he dismissed us, but he himself remained alone 
with Looking Eagle, who still lay motionless where he had fallen. 


XI 
THE BREAKING OF THE PEACE PIPE 


A KNOWLEDGE of the dance spread like flame throughout all the 


Grand River district, and young and old began to flock to The Sitting 
[239] 





The Book of the American Indian 





Bull’s camp, eager to hear more, eager to experiment. “We also 
wish to see our friends who have gone before us,”’ they said. ‘‘We 
wish to hear what they say. Teach us the way of the trance.” 

I felt the influence of their thought very strongly what time I 
sat among them, but afterward, when I had returned to the agency, 
it appeared but the rankest folly, and when others asked me about 
it I always said: “It is but a foolish thing; do not value it.”” But 
my words did not check the wave of belief in it. 

While no special pains were taken to conceal the fact from the 
white people, it was several days before the agent had any knowledge 
of Kicking Bear or his mission. This agent, let me say, was a good 
man, but jealous of his authority, and when he learned that the 
chief had himself invited The Kicking Bear into the reservation he 
was angry and said, “I won’t have any of this nonsense here,” and 
calling Crow, lieutenant of the police, he said: “Crow, go down to 
The Sitting Bull’s house and tell him this Kicking Bear and Messiah 
business must stop. Put Kicking Bear off the reservation at once!” 

I was very much alarmed by the order, and waited anxiously 
to learn what the chief would say. I feared his revolt. 

The next day the Crow returned from Rock Creek like a man 
walking in his sleep. He could give the agent no intelligible account 
of himself or of what he had seen. ‘‘He is a wonder worker,” he 
repeated, “I couldn’t put him away. When he took my hand I was 
weak as a child. I saw the dance, and when he waved a feather I 
became dizzy, I fell to the ground, and my eyes were turned inward.” 

The agent stared at him as if he were crazy; then he turned to 
me and said: “‘Iapi, I wish you’d go down and see what all this 
hocus-pocus means. Take a couple of policemen with you and make 
sure that they start this mischief maker on his way home. And tell 
The Sitting Bull that I want to see him. Say to him the agent 
expects him to fire Kicking Bear off the reservation.” 

I did not tell him that I already knew what was being done. I 


felt that if some one must carry such a message to the chief it was 
[240] 


The Silent Eaters 


well for me to do it, for he was in no mood to be reproved like a boy. 
I took no policemen, but rode away alone with many misgivings. 

No sooner had I passed the fort than I regretted my acceptance 
of the mission. After all, I was Uncapappa and I honored my chief. 
Whenever I entered the shadow of a tepee I was no longer alien; 
I fused with my tribe. The gravity and order of my chieftain’s lodge 
were pleasant to me, and the sound of the women’s songs melted 
my bones. I was not white; I was red. Acquiring the language of 
the conquering race had not changed my heart. 

For all these reasons I saw that I was set forth on a dishonorable 
mission. ‘To speak the words of the agent were impossible to me. 
When I met Circling Thunder, an old playmate of mine, and learned 
that many were dancing, my face stiffened. I had hoped to be able 
to have a word with the chief in private. 

“Do you believe in it?” I asked. 

My friend shook his head. “I don’t know. Many claim to have 
visited the spirit world—and Looking Eagle brought back a handful 
of pemmican, so they say. The buffalo were thick over there and 
the people were very happy.” 

** How do you know it was pemmican?”’ 

“*T tasted it.” 

‘Perhaps it was only beef.” 

“It may be so,” he said, but his eyes were still dim with dream. 

Many of those whom I met were in this state of doubt. They 
wished to be convinced. It was so sweet to dream of the old-time 
world, and yet they could not quite believe it. They stood too near 
the stern reality of hunger and cold, and yet my people are a race 
of seers. To them the dream has not yet lost its marvelous portent. 
In time of trouble they go upon the hills and wait for the vision which 
shall instruct and comfort them. 

In my youth I had shared in these beliefs. I had had my days 
of fasting and prayer; yes, I too had entered the sleep which reveals. 


I had met and talked with birds and animals, and once I felt the 
[241] 








The Book of the American Indian 





hand of my dead mother move in my hair. I had fasted until I 
could walk among the painted tepees of the spirit world and I had 
gazed on the black herds of buffalo. 

My training among scholars had given me a new understanding 
of these conditions, but I could not impart my knowledge to my 
people. My wisdom was accounted alien and therefore to be dis- 
trusted. Of what avail to argue with them when the frenzy was 
upon them? 

It was brilliant October, very warm and hazy, and our cruel, 
treacherous land was indolently beautiful. The sky was without 
cloud—a whitish blue—and the plain, covered with tawny short 
grass on the uplands, and with purple and golden garments of blue- 
joint in the hollows, seemed to lift on every side like a gigantic bowl. 
My horse’s hoofs drummed on the dry sod as I hurried forward. 

This is an inexorable land—a land in which man should be free 
to migrate like the larks or the buffalo. In the old days we never 
thought of living on these high, wind-swept spaces. They were 
merely our hunting grounds. Our winter camps were always beside 
the river, behind the deep banks, in the shelter of the oaks and cot- 
tonwoods. In those days the plain seemed less ferocious than now, 
when we are forced to cross it in all kinds of weather, poorly clothed. 
In the days of the buffalo we chose our time and place to migrate; 
now we were fastened to one spot like chained coyotes. 

As I came to the hill which overlooked the wooded flat I saw 
a great many tepees set about the chief’s cabin, and I perceived also 
that the dance was going on. Occasionally a cry reached me, 
pulsing faintly through the hazy air. In some such way, perhaps, 
the white fisher folk of Galilee drew together to greet the coming of 
their Messiah. Was this Saviour of the west any more incredible 
than Christ? 

So I mused as I rode slowly down the hill. What if it were all 
true? The white man who claims to know all things believes in his 


Bible and his Bible is full of miracles. 
[242] 


a ae aeeeegeemen 
The Silent Eaters 


Soon I could hear the song. It was the sad song I had heard 
them sing in the chief’s tepee. It was in most violent opposition 
to the sunlit earth and the soft caressing wind, and reached my 
heart like the wail of a mourning woman. Soon I was near enough 
to hear the wistful words. It was all of entreaty: 


“Our Father, we come. 
We come to you weeping. 
Take pity on us, O Father. 
We are poor and weak, 
Without you we can do nothing. 
Help us, O Father. 
Help us to see the old world, 
The happy hunting ground of the buffalo, 
The glorious land of our childhood. 
Hear us, Great Spirit.” 


They were dancing in a great circle, some sixty men and women, 
their hands interlacing, their eyes on the ground. Each dancer 
wore a plain buckskin shirt without ornament. No one carried a 
weapon of any kind. They had deliberately gone far back of the 
white man, discarding all things on which his desolating hand had 
been laid. On each head (even of the women) waved an eagle plume, 
the sacred feather, and all were painted with a red paint, which 
the Mato had brought with him—a sacred paint he called it. 
Around them were many others, watching, and here and _there on 
the ground lay those who were entranced. 

Just as I came up the song ended and Mato, who stood in the 
circle, lifted a peculiar wand in his hand and cried out like a priest: 
“Think hard only of that which you wish to see in your sleep, and 
it will be given to you. The old shall be young and the sick shall be 
made well. Put away all anger and hatred and turn your thoughts 
to the Messiah in the west who listens to all his children.”’ 

Then some one started another song and they began again to 
dance. I looked for the chief, and saw him sitting in the shadow 


of a small tree close to the circle of dancers. My father, Slohan, 
[243] 


a nena 


The Book of the American Indian 


Circling Hawk, and another whom I do not recall, sat with him. 
They were all very grave and very intent. They hardly saw me and 
my task grew heavy and hard. 

I motioned to my father and he came out, and I said: “I am 
from the agency. I am hungry and so is my horse.” 

He sent a boy with my pony and took mesto his tepee near by, 
and there I ate some bread and meat in silence. When I had 
finished I began: ‘‘Father, I have come to stop the dance and to 
put the priest away.” 

My father looked troubled. “Do you come from the agent?” 

“Ves, he has heard of the dance and his orders are to stop it.” 

“My son, all that is bad. It makes my heart sore. Do not 
speak to the chief now. Wait till evening, when he is weary. The 
agent is wrong. There is no harm in this dance. Has not the 
Messiah said, ‘Do not strike anyone; leave all punishment to the 
Great Spirit?’ Go back and tell the agent there is no harm in it.” 

I did not listen well, for the song outside was wilder and sadder 
each moment. They were dancing very fast now, and the ground, 
bare and very dry, had been tramped into dust, fine as flour, and 
this rose from under their feet like smoke, half concealing those on 
the leeward side. All were singing a piteous song of entreaty. The 
women’s voices especially pierced me with their note of agonized 
appeal. It was a song to make me shudder—the voice of a dying 
people crying out for life and pleading for the return of the happy 
past. I could not understand how the white men could listen to it 
and not be made gentle. 

The chief gazed intently at the circle. He seemed waiting in 
rigid expectancy, his face deeply lined and very sad. He looked 
like one threescore and ten sitting so. It was plain that he did not 
yet permit himself to believe in the message. He, too, felt the pain 
and weariness of the world, but still he could not join in the song. 
His mind was too clear and strong to be easily confused. 


The interest was now very great. Waves of excitement seemed 
[244] 








The Silent Eaters 


to run over the circle and those who watched. Shouts mingled with 
the singing. The principal song, which they repeated endlessly, 
was the Messiah’s promise of eternal life: 





“There the Father comes, 

There the Father comes, 

Speaking as he flies. 

Calling, as he comes, this joyous word, 
‘You shall live again,’ he calls, 
‘You shall live beyond the grave,’ 

He is calling as he comes.” 


Many did not sing; they only cried out for help, entreating to be 
shown those who had died. “Oh, hear me! Great Spirit, let me see 
my little one—my boy; let me hear his voice,”’ pleaded one woman, 
and her voice shook me till my hair moved as if a spirit passed. 

Some of the women’s faces were distorted with grief, and a kind 
of nervous action which they could not control seized upon them. 
One by one as they began to show this tension, Mato and his 
helpers confronted them, waving before their eyes a feather on a wand 
and uttering a hoarse chant, monotonous and rapid, “‘ Ha—ha—ha— 
ha—ha—hah!” until the frenzied one, convulsed and dreaming, 
fell into the ring and lay stiff and stark in the dirt. 

But the ring did not halt. The fall of each new convert seemed 
to add new vigor to the song, for each hoped to be the next one 
smitten. Suddenly Shato, dropping the hands of those dancing 
near him, flung his hands to the sky with a gesture as if he would 
tear the sun from its place. The hooked intensity of his fingers was 
terrible to see. He remained fixed in that way, rigid as iron, yet 
standing on his feet firm as an oak. No one touched him; on the 
contrary, all were careful not to disturb those who were in| trance. 
Another man stood at bay, buffeting the dancers to keep them from 
trampling upon his wife, who, being sick of some wasting disease, 
had joined the circle, seeking health of the Great Spirit. 


As I looked my heart contracted. It seemed that I was looking 
[245] 








The Book of the American Indian 





upon the actual dissolution—the death pangs—of my race. My 
learning was for the moment of no avail. I shook like a reed in 
the gust of this primeval passion. Was it insanity or was it some 
inexplicable divine force capable in very truth of uniting the quick 
and the dead in one convulsive, rapturous coalition? 

A thrill of momentary belief swept over me. Was it not better to 
end it all, to die and go with all my people to the happy hunting 
grounds! The white man’s world, what was it but a world of care 
and grief? 

The songs continued, but they grew quieter. Several of those 
who called loudest now lay silent in the dust. Those who circled 
and sang were keener of eye and calmer of feature. These were 
they who reasoned, and to them the trance could not come. I 
began to see that those who had taken on the dream were not the 
most intelligent but the most emotional men and women of my tribe, 
those who were weakened by the loss of dear ones. 

The song was no longer a cry—it had beautiful words. It grew 
more joyous: 

“Do you see the world a-coming? 
A new serener world is near. 
The eagle brings the message to our tribe. 
Thus the Father sayeth. 
Covering all the plain they come, 
The Bufialo and elk and deer. 
The crow has brought the message to the tribe. 


Thus the Father sayeth, 
Thus he gives us cheer.” 


At the end of this song, four times repeated, the dancers un- 
clasped hands and sat down on the earth. As they did this the 
chief arose and, stepping into the circle, took a seat near Mato, 
who arose and, lifting his hands to the west, again prayed silently 
for a moment, then said: 

“My friends, you see the words of the AMeleigh are true words. 
Many are asleep. They will return soon and tell us of their good 


journey to the spirit world. Ever since the Messiah talked to me 
[246] ) 








The Silent Eaters 


I have thought upon what he said and I see only good in it. It is 
a sweet religion. The white man’s religion is not for us. Its words 
are all strange. It deals with unknown animals and tells of far-off 
countries. ‘The names of the chiefs we do not understand, but 
this new religion all can understand. It is filled with familiar 
words. Itisfor us. Our Messiah has told us that all our dead are 
to come back to the earth, and as the earth is too small for such a 
throng he must remove the white man. He will also bring heaven 
down to make the world wider, and then all the red men will be 
able to dwell together in friendship. There will be no more war, 
only hunting and feasting and games. This good world will come to 
us if we do as he commands.” 

At this moment Chasing Hawk, who acted as usher, brought to 
the circle a woman who had just wakened out of a trance. Her face 
was shining with happiness, but her tongue was thick, she could 
barely make herself heard. As she spoke the chief listened intently. 

** What did you see ?”’ asked Mato. 

**T saw my little one,” she replied. 

** Where was he ? What was he doing ?” 

**He was playing in the grass, in a beautiful country. My 
grandmother was near, cooking for him.” 

Mato called her answers aloud to all who listened, and everyone 
crowded near to hear the glories of the land from which her spirit 
had returned. Cries of joy arose in swift echo of the priest’s shouting, 
but the chief’s face remained gravely meditative. 

When this woman was led away Eagle Holder, another dreamer, 
came into the circle, one who needed no crier. He was a proud 
orator. Reaching out his hand in a gesture of exultation, he cried: 

‘In my sleep I saw a vast eagle coming toward me. He came 
rushing; the noise of his wings was like a storm, his eyes were red 
like the moon at dusk. As he came near I caught him by the neck, 
and with a rush he carried me away.” Cries of astonishment 


broke forth. ‘He swept away with me high up and toward the east; 
[247] 


Eee 
oe 


The Book of the American Indian 


the wind cried about my ears and for a time I could see nothing; 
all was mist. At last he began to circle and I looked away and I 
saw the new land of the Messiah.” (“‘Hah! Hah!” called the 
people.) “It was a prairie country” (the women began to sing) 
“vith countless buffalo feeding” (“Ah! Ah!’) “and lakes with 
great white birds sailing about. On the bank of the lake was a 
circle of tepees and they were made of skins whitened by clay, 
and they were very large and clean and new. A hunting party 
was just riding forth; they were very happy and sang as they went.” 

He paused abruptly, while the women wailed in rapture. At 
last he continued: “Then the eagle entered a cloud and I saw no 
more. I woke and found myself here on the ground.” 

This story, magnificently told though it was, affected the hearers 
less than the shining, ecstatic face of the mother who had seen her 
spirit child. Her slow, dreamy utterance was more eloquent than 
the vivid gestures and musical voice of Eagle Holder. 

One by one others awoke and told of meeting friends and revisit- 
ing old scenes. Some told of people they had never met in life, 
- and minutely described lodges they had never entered. These 
stories awoke wild cries of amazement and joy. It was plain that 
many believed. I had not seen my people so happy since I was a 
child, before the battle of the Big Horn. 

At last when all had spoken they arose and joined hands and 
began singing once more; then the chief rose and left the circle, 
and I, intercepting him, said: “Chief, I bring a message to you.” 
He made a motion which means follow, and I accompanied him to 
his tepee, which he loved because of its associations with old days, 
and to which he went for meditation and council. 

It would be wrong if I did not confess that I knew the chief 
distrusted me, for he did. After I had taken my position under the 
agent he was less free to speak his mind to me, and this was a grief 
to me. My father saw us go and joined us, and I was glad of his 


presence. His kind old face made it easier for me to begin. 
[248] 


The Silent Eaters 


The chief took his seat at the back of the lodge and said: 
“Speak. I listen.” 

“Sire,” I said, “the agent has heard bad things of this dance on 
other reservations, and some days ago he sent policemen down here 
to forbid it. He now hears it is still going on and he has sent me 
to say that Mato, the messenger, must go away and the dance 
must stop.” 

I could see the veins of his neck fill with hot blood as he listened, 
and when I had finished he said: “‘Are we dogs to be silenced by 
kicking! You say to the agent that the white men have beaten us 
and left us naked of every good thing, but they shall not take away 
our religion. I will not obey this command! I have said it!” | 

Here my father broke in, saying to me: “‘ You yourself have told 
me that you saw among the white people dreams like this. Why do 
they seek to prevent us? You have read us the white man’s sacred 
Big Book, and you say it is full of medicine dreams. Why should we 
not dream also?” 

I then replied: “J do not come commanding these things. It 
is the agent who says them. Do not blame me.” 

The chief, who had regained his composure, interposed quietly: 
*“My son, you are right. We should not blame you, but the one 
who sent you. Therefore I say take these words to the agent: ‘J 
will not give up the dance.’” | 

In the hope of persuading him, I asked: “‘Do you believe in the 
dance?” 

“T do not know,” he replied. “I am watching, I am listening. 
It is like the white man’s religion—very wonderful and very diffi- 
cult to believe. I wish to try it and see. The white men are very 
wise, yet their preachers say that the sun stood still for Joshua, 
and Christ, their great Medicine Man, healed the lame and raised 
the dead.” 

“But that was long ago,”’ I hastened to say. 


“If such wonders happened then they can happen now,” he 
[249] 








The Book of the American Indian 


answered. ‘Then he passionately broke forth: “I desire this new 
earth. My people are in despair, their hearts are utterly gone. 
We need help. My warriors will soon be like the Chinaman at the 
fort, fit only to wash windowpanes. Our rations are being cut 
off. What is there to look forward to? Nothing. I saw in the 
east many poor people. They worked very hard and wore ragged 
clothes. All were not rich and happy. Among the white men my 
people would be only other poor people, ragged and hungry, creeping 
about, eating scraps of food like hungry curs. I fear for them, 
therefore my ears are open to the words of this new religion which 
assures me that the old world—the world of my fathers—is to 
return. You say the agent is displeased. Is there anything I can 
do which does not displease him? ‘The white men have their religion 
—they pray and sing. Why should not we sing if we have heart to 
do so? Go ask him if he is afraid that the Messiah has come of a 
truth, and that the white man is to be swept away.”’ 

» “He thinks it is a war dance,” I said. “He is afraid it will stir 
up strife.” 

“Go tell him what you have seen. Say to him that it is a peace- 
ful dance. There are no weapons here; there is no talk of fighting. 
It is a magical prayer. Mato says those who lie out there are with 
the spirits. You heard them tell what they saw. If these tales are 
true and if we could all be as they, then would the white man’s 
world indeed vanish like smoke and the pasture of the buffalo come 
again. It is strange—that I know—but the white man’s religion 
is also very hard to believe. The priest will tell you stories just as 
wonderful, and the preacher, too. Their Messiah was born in a 
stable among cattle; ours appears among the mountains. Their 
Christ rose from the dead. So does ours. Their Christ came to the 
poor people, so they say. Are we so despised of God that we cannot 
have our Messiah, too? I do not say all this is true, I only wish to 
test it and see.” 


I could see that his clear mind could not accept the new religion, 
[250] 


The Silent Eaters 


yet his heart desired it deeply. Once he had said: “I do not 
understand your Christ and his teaching. I must have time to 
think; I will not be pushed into it,” and as he had often reproved 
his people for saying yes to everything the white man said, so now 
he was equally cautious, only he was older, with a deeper longing to 
be comforted. 

My task was only half completed and I said: “Chief, the agent 
told me to say to you, ‘Put Mato away.’ I beg you to come with 
me and meet the agent and explain to him the meaning of the dance, 
and then maybe he will not insist on this inhospitable thing.” 

The chief’s face grew very stern. “The agent is a dog! He 
insults me. I will not see him! If he wishes to talk with me let him 
come here. I am waiting.” 

My father made me a sign to go, and I went away. I could 
hear them conversing in low voices, but I could not understand what 
they said. At last my father called, and I went in again. 

The chief looked less grim of lip and said to me, “Very well, 
Mato will go to-night.” 

“Good,” I said. ‘‘At ten o’clock to-night Bull Head and I will 
come to take them across the river.” 

My father and I went out and left him sitting alone. 

When I returned at ten o’clock with Bull Head the chief’s lodge 
was filled with people. The women were weeping and the men 
were sullen. As I entered the tepee Mato was speaking. The chief 
sat smoking, with his eyes fixed on the floor. The priest was 
saying: 

“You see how it is! The red man can keep nothing from the 
white man, who is jealous even of our religion. Washington would 
deprive us of our dreams. The agent is a wolf. Nevertheless, I 
will go, for my mission here is fulfilled. I have spoken the words 
of the Father; I have taught you the ceremonials. Henceforth you 
can test for yourself the truth of the word.” Then standing erect and 


in line the six messengers of the Messiah lifted the palms of their 
[251] 





The Book of the American Indian 


hands toward the west and prayed silently. A little later they began 
to sing this song: 





‘My children take this road, 
My children go this way, 
Says our Saviour. 
It is a goodly road, 
Says the Father; 
It leads to joyous lands, 
Says the Father.’ 


As they sang the people began to cry out, “Stay and tell us 
more,” but Mato led the way out of the lodge. 

As I stood at the door, ready to follow him, the chief stood upon 
his feet, with a look on his face which silenced every one who saw it; 
it was fierce, yet it was exalted. Holding his pipe in his outstretched 
hands, his beloved pipe which he had carried since his first chieftain- 
ship, he said: “Here break I my peace pipe. If this religion is true 
then there is no more war. [If it is not true, then I wish to die as a 
warrior dies, fighting!”” With a gesture he snapped the stem in 
pieces. All the people cried out, and with a heart cold with fear I 
went forth into the night. 

My chief’s last war with the white invader had begun. 


XII 
THE CHIEF PROPOSES A TEST 


MEANWHILE the dance was going on not only among all the 
Sioux, but among the Cheyenne, Arapahoe, and Shoshone peoples, 
and the settlers of many states were greatly alarmed. They pre- 
tended to believe the ceremonial was warlike. They knew nothing 
of the songs or prayers. Cowboys, drunk and desiring a little amuse- 
ment, raced into the border towns shouting, “‘The Sioux are on the 
warpath!” and whole settlements, frenzied with fear, fled to the 
east, crying loudly for the government to send troops. “Stop 


this outbreak,” became the demand. 
[252] 








The Silent Eaters 


All this pressure and excitement made our situation worse. 
Those who believed said, “You see how it is, the white people are 
afraid of our religion; they are seeking to prevent the coming of the 
new world”; and those reckless ones who were willing to fight 
cried out: “Make ready. Let us war!” 

Letters and telegrams poured in upon the agent at the Standing 
Rock, asking for a true statement of affairs. To all these he 
replied, “There is no danger, these Indians are peaceful”; but he 
took occasion in his answers to defame my chief. 

In this he overshot his mark, for in calling The Sitting Bull a 
man of no force, a liar, and a coward, he became unreasonable. 
To fear a man so small and mean was childish. He also misstated 
the religion of the dance. He sneered at my father and others 
as “Indians lately developed into medicine men,” and ended by 
saying, “The Sitting Bull is making rebellion among his people.” 
Forgetting all the favorable reports he had many times made of 
my chief, he falsely said, “The Sitting Bull has been a disturbing 
element ever since his return in 1883.” 

What could such a man know of the despair into which my people 
had fallen? He was hard, unimaginative, and jealous of his authority. 
He was also a bigot and it is hard for anyone not a poet or phil- 
osopher to be just to a people holding a different view of the world. 
Racé hatred and religious prejudices stand like walls between the 
red man and the white. The Sioux cannot comprehend the priest 
and ‘the priest will not tolerate the Sioux. Our agent became angry, 
arrogant, and unreasonable. He felt that his government was in 
question. His pride was hurt. 

For a few days after I reported the departure of Mato all was 
quiet and the agent believed that the frenzy was over so far as 
his wards were concerned. He was only anxious that The Sitting 
Bull and his followers should not know how deeply their dances 
had stirred the settlements. Nevertheless, the chief knew, and it 


helped him to retain some faith in the magic he was testing. He 
[253] 


a aa ack pee ASSAD A SSE NE ELSES NLT TE IEEE ESE ET 


The Book of the American Indian 


EE 
did not refer to the breaking of his peace pipe, but he declined to 
give up the dance. 

To his friend, John Carignan, the teacher, he said: “The agent 
complains that I feed my cattle to those who come to dance. What 
does it matter? If the buffalo come back I will not need them. 
If the new religion is a lie then I do not care to raise cattle. The 
Great Spirit has sent me a message. He has said, ‘If you wish to 
live join the dance I have given.’ Whether this message is true or not 
I cannot yet tell. I am seeking proof.” 

Against the bitter words of the agent I will put- the words of 
John Carignan, who kept the schcol near The Sitting Bull’s home. 
This man speaks our language. “I knew the chief well,” he said, 
“and I saw no evilin him. He was an Indian, but I can’t blame him 
for that.” 

During this troublesome period my chief went often to see 
the teacher of his children. Jack was the one white man with 
whom he could talk freely, and together they argued upon the new 
religion. Jack liked my chief and told me so one day as we were 
discussing the agent’s attitude toward the dance. “Often the chief 
came to eat with my family and he has always borne himself with 
dignity and honor. I have always found him considerate and 
unassuming.” 

“Our religion seems foolish to you, but so does yours to 
me,” my chief said. “The Baptists and Methodists and Pres- 
byterians and Catholics all have a different God. Why cannot 
we have one of our own? Why does the agent seek to take away 
our religion? My race is dying. Our God will soon die with us. 
If this new religion is not true, then what does it matter? I do not 
know what to believe. If I could dream like others and visit the 
spirit land myself, then it would be easy for me to believe, but 
the trance does not come to me. It passes me by. I help others to 
see their dead, but I am not aided.” 


“That is it precisely,” replied the teacher. “See the kind of 
[254] 


\ 








The Silent Eaters 


men who go into the trance. Your strong, clear-headed men do 
not believe.” 

“That is true,” the chief admitted, “but I am hoping some 
of my head men may yet enter the trance. Perhaps we do not 
know how to prepare the way.” 

By this he meant that they had not learned how to hypnotize, 
for that is what the dance became. It was like a meeting of spirit- 
ualists who sit for visions. It was like the revival meetings of the 
Free Methodists or the old-time Shakers or Quakers. My’ friend 
Davies wrote me a long letter wherein he said: “It is foolish, 
as you say, but no more absurd to my mind than scores of other 
forms of religious ecstasy. My advice is let it run; it will wear 
itself out. Movements of this kind grow by opposition.” 

All that he said was true, but, like the chief, I could not help 
hoping something would happen, for when they sang their songs 
warmed my heart and made my learning of little weight. The 
painted arrows, the fluttering feathers, the symbolic figures— 
every little thing had its appeal to me. When they raised their 
quivering palms in the air and cried to the Messiah in the west, 
I could scarcely restrain myself from joining in their supplication. 
This may seem strange, but it is true and you will never compre- 
hend this last despairing cry of my race if I do not tell you the 
truth. 

We believed in what we were. We had the pride of race. We 
were fulfilling our destiny as hunters and freemen. Do you think 
that in ten years you can make my proud people bow the neck to 
the scourge of a white man’s daily hatred? Is the Great Spirit a 
bungler? Does he draw a figure on the earth, only to wipe it away 
as a child writes upon a slate? 

*“Why are we so thrust upon and degraded? It must be that 
we have angered the Great Spirit. We must go back to the point 
wherein our old trail is found,” so my father argued. 


The line that divides the mysterious and the commonplace 
[255] 





The Book of the American Indian 


is very slender, in the minds of my people. You do not realize 
that. They take up a cartridge. How wonderful it is! How is it 
made? A knife—what gives the point its gleam and its spring? 
The grass blade, what causes it to thrust from the earth? The 
clouds, where do they go—what are they? To the west of us is the 
Crow country; beyond that, who knows? You must put yourself 
in the place of those who think in this way before you judge them 
harshly. Many of these things I now understand, but I do not 
know why men are born and why they die. I do not know why the 
sun brings forth the grass. 

My chief comprehended more than most men of his tribe, but 
to him the world was just as mysterious as to me. It did him no 
good to study the white man’s religions. They were so many 
and so contradictory that he was confused. He had always been 
a prayerful man—and had kept the Sun Dance, and all the cer- 
emonials of the Uncapappas carefully. He was a grave soul, doing 
nothing thoughtlessly. He always asked the Great Spirit for guid- 
ance, yet he was never a medicine man, as the white men say. 
He did not become so during this dance. He helped to hypnotize 
the dancers, but so did others; that did not mean that they were 
priests or medicine men—it only meant they had the power to 
induce these trances. ' 

It was a time of great bewilderment, of question and of doubt. 
No one thought of the present; all were dreaming of the past, 
hoping to bring the past. The future was black chaos unless the 
Great Spirit should restore their world of the buffalo. 

The dance went on with steadily growing excitement. The 
autumn remained very mild and favorable to the ceremony, and 
yet there were fewer people in it than the agent supposed. Those 
most active continued to be the mourners. Those who had lost 
children crowded to the dance, as white people go to spiritualistic 
seances, in the hope of touching the hands of their babes and hear- 


ing the voices of their daughters. They sincerely believed that 
[256] 





The Silent Eaters 


they met their dead and they deeply resented the brutal order of 
the agent who would keep them from this sweet reunion. 

It was deeply moving to look upon their happy faces as they 
stood and called in piercing voices: ‘I saw my child—my little 
son. He was playing with his small bow and arrows. I called 
him and he ran tome. He was very happy with his grandfather. 
The sun was shining on the flowers and no one was hungry. My 
boy clung to my hand. [I did not wish to come back. Oh, teach 
me the way to go again!” 

I think the number of those who believed that the new world 
of the buffalo was coming, that the white man would be swept 
away, were few, but hundreds considered it possible to go to the 
spirit land and see those who were dead, and they resented, as 
my chief, the interference of the government. There was nothing 
worth while left in the world but this, and they used bitter words 
when they were commanded to lay this comforting faith aside. 
‘‘Why should our spirit meetings be taken from us?” they asked 
of me. 

In spite of the wind, the dust, and the blazing October sun, 
a veil of mysterious passion lay over the camp. The children were 
withdrawn from school to participate in the worship. Nothing 
else was talked of. During the day, as the old chiefs counciled, 
the women gathered together and told their experiences. There 
were deceivers among those who took part in this, and many who 
were self-deceived, but for the most part they were in deadly 
earnestness; the exultation on their faces could not be simulated. 
They moved in a cloud of joyous memories, with no care, no thought 
of the Great Father’s commands. They were borne above all other 
considerations but this—“‘How may we bring back the vanished 
world of the fathers?” 

Up at the agent’s office was an absolutely different world. 
There hate and cynical coarseness ruled. To go from the dance 


to the agent was a bitter experience for me. I was forced into decep- 
[257] 





The Book of the American Indian 





tion. No one dared to speak of the dance, except in terms of laugh- 
ter or disbelief. All the renegades in the pay of the government 
joined in the jests and told ribald stories of the chief and of the 
ceremonies. They could not understand what it meant. As for 
me, I said little, but I foresaw trouble for my people and sorrow 
for myself. 

The chief clerk hated me and all Indians. He was a most capable 
man, but sour and sullen to everyone who did not appeal to him. 
He had no children, no wife, and no faith. His voice was a snarl, his 
face a chill wind. He never spoke to an Indian that he did not 
curse. The agent was not so, but he was a zealot impatient of the 
old, eager to make a record for himself and the post. Loyal to the 
white man’s ideal, he was unsympathetic and harsh and materialistic 
in dealing with the traditional prejudices of my race. 

He sent for Jack, the teacher, and asked him to come up and talk 
with him. “Tell me all about it,” he said, ‘‘ What is the meaning of 
it?” 

In reply Jack said, soberly: ‘They are very much in earnest 
about this new religion of theirs, but they are peaceable. The 
Sitting Bull talked with me a long time yesterday, and I found it a 
hard matter to meet his arguments, which he bases on the miracles 
of the Bible. The dancers are told to lay aside all that the white 
man has made and fix their minds on what they wish to see most of 
all. They go into a trance and lie for hours. When they wake they 
are very happy. They come and tell me their dreams and some of 
them are very beautiful. My advice is to let them alone. It is a 
craze like the old-fashioned Methodist revival. It will die out as 
winter comes on.” 

This testimony by a man who understood our language and was 
in daily contact with The Sitting Bull band led the agent to pursue 
a calmer course. He decided to wait the ebbing of the excitement. 

Unfortunately, a long letter he had written to Washington about 


“the Messiah craze’? was given to the reporters, and the daily 
[258] 


The Silent Eaters 


papers were instantly filled with black headlines introducing foolish 
and false accounts of what was taking place. Writers hurried to 
the Standing Rock and wired alarming reports of what they heard, 
and all this reacted unfavorably upon the dancers. 

The agent then laid the burden of the blame upon my chief. 
He is a reactionary,” he said; “he is a disturber and has been from 
the first. He has opposed every treaty and has insisted at all times 
on being treated as a chief,” and in all his letters and talks he con- 
tinued to speak ill of him. 

He sent word by me and by Jack, saying to The Sitting Bull: 
*“Come to the agency. I want to talk with you. Stop this foolish 
dance and come here and camp for a while where I can talk with you. 
The white people are alarmed and you must stop this dance.” 

The chief, embittered by the agent’s attack upon him, refused to 
go to the Standing Rock. “I am not a dog to be whistled at. I 
will not go to the agent to be insulted and beaten,” and he called 
his old guard of “Silent Eaters” around him. “The agent threatens 
to imprison me and break up the dance. If he comes to fight he will 
find us ready.” 

Day by day the feeling between the agency and its police on 
the one side, and the chief and the dancers on the other, got more 
alarming, and the agent was obliged to send many telegrams to 
Washington and the outside world to quiet the fears of the settlers, 
and at last he decided to go down to Rock Creek and see for him- 
self what was going on. He should have done so before. 

He asked me to go as interpreter, and this I did, but very 
reluctantly, for it put me too much on his side. 

He planned to come upon the scene of the dance suddenly, and 
many were dancing as we rode up to the outer circle of lodges. The 
word went about that the agent was come, but no one stopped 
dancing on that account. They were too much in earnest to give 
heed to any authority. Some of those to whom he called replied 


with words of contempt, defying his command, and I, who knew 
[259] 








The Book of the American Indian 


the terrible power of the President’s army, trembled as I saw the 
face of the agent blacken. 

“What foolery!” he said to me. “This has got to stop! Go 
tell The Sitting Bull to come to me.” 

I made my way to where the chief sat, and told him what the 
agent had demanded. 

I could see that he associated me with the renegades who fawned 
upon the agent, and he listened to what I said with cold, stern face. 
I pleaded with him to do as he was commanded. I informed him of 
the fury of fear which had fallen upon the settlers and I warned him 
that the soldiers would come to put a stop to the dance. 

To all this he made no reply other than to say: “Since the 
agent has come to see me, tell him I will talk with him i in he morn- 
ing. Iam busy now. I cannot leave the dance.” . 


The agent was furious when I told him this, and as we drove off ‘3 


down to the school muttered a threat, “I’ll make him suffer for this, Ye 


the insolent old dog.” We found Carignan, the teacher, almost 
alone at the school. The Sitting Bull had said: “If this religion is 
true, then it is more important than your books,” and had told his 
people to withdraw their children from their studies. ‘If the white 
man’s world is coming to an end, of what use is it to learn his 
ways?” he argued. a 

To Carignan the agent talked freely of the chief. ‘He must be 
brought low,” he declared, wrathfully. ‘‘His power must be broken. 
I will see him in the morning and give him one more chance to quit 
peaceably. If he does not I will arrest him. He will find he can’t 
run this reservation.” e 

To this Carignan replied: “I don’t think he means to make 
trouble, but he is profoundly interested in this new religion. I 
think he will yield to reason.” 

There had already been a great deal of talk of the War Departs 
ment sending someone to quiet the disturbance, and this the agent 


did not relish. He had been an Indian agent for many years and — 


[260] 
~ 
Lal 
* 8 
oF d eH { i Ry Oe innate 
Fe Aas ee ate ‘as peace et 5 Nie. 
> ty an ee LADS A ene Rad et 
AN,” x gases is bn Pe ha vk ae pes i | Sede, iy “Gh a? 














F ‘ ae 
(Nee 
Scouts 
These Indian scouts are on the trail of a Chiricahua uel 
Apache named Massai, famous in the ’nineties as the 
x4 Sake 
) 


wildest and most cruel of the Apaches. So crooked was : 
Massai’s trail that even the Indians themselves could not 
follow it. 


Illustration from 
MASSAI’S CROOKED TRAIL . 
by Frederic Remington 





Originally published in 
Harper’s Macazing, January, 1898 








On the Little Big Horn 


When Cheschapah, son of the aged Crow chief, Pounded 
Meat, became a medicine-man and aspired to leadership 
of the tribe, a party of Sioux came on a visit to the Crows. 
Fearing that the feasting and eloquence of Cheschapah 
might turn their thoughts to war, troops were sent to bring 
the visitors home. The Sioux started for home meekly 
enough, but Cheschapah, with a yelling swarm of his 
young friends, began to buzz about the column, threatening 
to attack the troopers who had so rudely broken up their 
dinner party, and did not desist even when the soldiers 
had forded the river. Whereupon the chief of the Crow 
police rode out to Cheschapah, commanding him to turn 
back, and received for an answer an insult that with Indians 
calls for blood. But for old chief Pounded Meat, who then 
rode out to his son and cowed him with a last flare of com- 
mand, firing would have begun then and there. 


Illustration from 
LITTLE BIG HORN MEDICINE 
by Owen Wister 


Originally published in 
Harper’s MAGAzInpF, June, 1894 





The Silent Eaters 


prided himself on knowing how to handle his people, and was 
especially anxious to keep the chief authority entirely in his own 
hands. Poor and despised as The Sitting Bull had become, even the 
_ agent considered it an honor to arrest and imprison him. Further- 
more, I could see that he did not care to attempt ‘this except as a 
: last resort. ‘ 
The following morning the agent, Carignan, and myself went 
up to see The Sitting Bull. He was in his tepee, smoking beside a 
é small smoldering fire. He was very cold and quiet, and looked tired 
and weak. His hair parted in the middle and the sad look of his 
“4 face made him resemble an old woman. To me he was only a 
_ tragic wraith of his former self. His eyes were dull and heavy. 
He was a type of my vanishing race as he sat there, and my heart 
-- went out to him. 
He greeted us with a low word and shook hands. We all sat 
about in the lodge. Few people were stirring. 
“Tell the chief I have come to talk with him about this dance,”’ 
: began the agent. 
I told the chief, and he said: “Speak on, my ears are open.” 
“Tell him I hear he is dancing this foolish dance almost every 


day, making his people tired, so that they neglect their cattle and — 


have taken their children from school. Tell him that all the people 
are getting excited. Therefore, Washington says the dance must 
top!” continued the agent. 
I told the chief this. His face did not change, but his eyes fired 
a little. ‘“‘Are the white people afraid of this new religion? Why 
“ do they wish to stop it?” he scornfully asked, in answer. 
‘Say to him that I do not fear the dance—I consider it foolish— 
I do not want him wasting the energies of the people. He must 
a it at once!” $y, 
To this i chief replied: «y am a reasonable man and a peace- 












maker. not seek trouble, but my people take comfort in this 
dance. _ They have lost many dear ones and in this dance they see 
[261] 
; le 8 ' $ Ks 
: r ¥ ae " | a o rn we a 
* i: M 
* ut ow Zz q + 
¢ NW « vy 





sh * 
es a 











2 


The Book of the American Indian 


them again. Whether it is true or not I have not yet made up my 
mind, but my people believe in it and I see no harm in it.” Here he 
paused for a moment. “I have a proposition to make to you,” 
he said firmly. ‘This new religion came to me from the Brulé 
Reservation; they got it from the west. The Mato and Kios claim 
to have seen the Messiah. Let us two, you and I, set forth together 
with intent to trail down this story of the Messiah. If, when we 
reach the last tribe in the land where the story originated, they 
cannot show us the Messiah or give us satisfactory proof, then we 
will return and I will tell my people that they have been too credu- 
lous. This report will end the dance forever. It will not do to order 
my people to stop; that will make them sure the dance is true 
magic.” 

The chief was very serious in this offer. He knew that he could 
not, by merely ordering it, stop the dance; but if he should go on 
this journey with the agent and make diligent inquiry, then he 
could on his return speak with authority. He made this offer as 
one reasonable man to another, and, had the agent met him halfway 
or even permitted him to send my father or Slohan, the final tragedy 
might have been averted, but the agent was too angry now to parley. 
His answer was contemptuous. 

“Tell him I refuse to consider that. It is as crazy as the dance. 
It would only be a waste of time.” 

I urged him to accept, for in the months to follow the excitement 
would die out, but he would not listen. 

“J will not consider it. It would be like trying to catch up the 
wind that blew last year. I do not care to argue here. Tell him to 
come to my house to-morrow and I will give him a night and a day 
to prove to me that he is not a foolish old man, chasing a will-o’- 
the-wisp.” 

To this the chief replied: ‘‘Are there miracles only in the white 
man’s religion? I hear you believe there was once a great flood and 


all the people were drowned but a man and a woman, who took all 
[262] 








The Silent Eaters 


the animals, male and female, into a big steamboat. When did this 
happen? How do you know it? Is the ghost dance more foolish? 
Are my people to be without a religion because it does not please the 
white man?” 

To this the agent answered, impatiently: “I refuse to debate. 
I have orders to stop the dance, and these orders must be carried 
out. Tell him to come to the agency to-morrow and we will talk 
it out there. I can’t do it now.” 

To my surprise, the chief pacifically responded: “I will come. 
My people are few and feeble, I do not wish to make trouble. Let 
us speak wisely in this matter. You are angry now and my people 
are excited. I will come and we will talk quietly together.” 

But the faces of the old guard were dark, and Black Bull, who 
stood near, cried out, saying: “‘Let us alone. We will not give up 
the dance. We are afraid. Send the coyote away! Is The Sitting 
Bull afraid?” 

This touched the chief to the quick, and he said, “I am not, 
but I do not desire trouble.” 

My father spoke and said: “‘Do not go. The white man will 
imprison you if you do.” 

Black Bull again shouted: “The white man is a liar! His 
tongue is double. He has set a trap. Will you walk into it?” 

The chief turned to me. ‘“‘Is this true? Have they talked of 
putting me in prison?” 

I could not deny this, and while I sat im silence, seeking 
words which would not inflame him, Catch the Bear said: “I 
have heard that they have planned to kill you. Do not go to the 
agency.” 

The chief was now convinced that the agent and myself had 
come to entice him into a snare. He rose, and his face took on 
the warrior’s lionlike look as he said: “TI will not go to the agency. 
I will not die in prison. If I am to die it will be here, as a soldier, on 


the spot where I was born.” 
[263] 


er 


The Book of the American Indian 


Even then the agent could have won him by pacific speech, 
but he too was angry, and he said: “I give you till to-morrow morn- 
ing to decide. If you do not come to the agency I will send the 
police and take you.” He then went back to the school. 

To Carignan he said, as he got into his wagon: “You had better 
send all your people up to the post. I am going to arrest The 
Sitting Bull to-night and it may make trouble,” and in this spirit 
he drove away. 


XIII 


THE CHIEF PLANS A JOURNEY 


Tuat was a dark night in The Sitting Bull’s camp. The women 
were weeping and the men, with faces sullen and fierce, gathered 
in solemn council. Black Wolf, Catch the Bear and The Two 
Strike loudly advocated resistance, their hot hearts aflame, but 
the chief kept on smoking his pipe, which is the sign of indecision. 
He was still the peace maker and concerned over the welfare of his 
people. 

When he spoke he said: “To fight now is to die. The white 
man will crush us like flies. I know that for I have seen his armies. 
The happy hunting grounds are as near to me as to any of you, 
but I am not ready to die. I have thought deeply over the matter, 
and I have resolved not to fight, for unless we intend to kill all 
our children and so leave no one to follow us, the white man will 
visit his hate on those who remain. If the agent comes with his 
renegades to arrest me I will resist to the death, but if the soldiers 
come for me I will go with them, for they have the hearts of war- 
riors and know how to treat a chief. This is my decision; but 
whatever comes, let no one interfere in my behalf, for to do so 
would only mean bloodshed, and that will do no good. I am your 
head—they will visit their punishment on me. I will meet them 
alone.” 


Thereupon he spoke to his “Silent Eaters” and said: “Put 
[264] 








The Silent Eaters 





sentinels on the hills and keep watch on all that is done at the 
agency. Let no spy approach us.” 

The dance went on after that in a sort of frenzy, as if desperate 
by need. The cries of those who prayed were heartbreaking to 
hear. “O Great Spirit, save us; bring the happy land quickly, ere 
the white man slays us,” this they wailed over and over again, for 
the days were fleet and the wolves of winter near. 

When the chief did not appear as he had promised, then the 
agent drew a dead line between the agency and the camp, and 
brought into play the forces of hunger and cold. He sent word to 
all the Grand River people, commanding them to move up and go 
into permanent camp near the agency. “Those who do not come 
will be cut off from their rations.”” And to his clerk he said: ‘‘ That 
will show the old chief’s followers where they stand.” ) 

The effect of this order cannot be overstated. The north wind 
was now keen, and the people had little meat and no meal. They 
were dependent on the agency issue for their daily food. They 
were forbidden to leave the reservation to hunt and there was 
very little game left anywhere. This order drew the line sharply 
between those who had faith in the dance and those who only 
pretended to sympathize with it. To remain was to starve and 
freeze; to go was to acknowledge the final supremacy of the white 
man and all he stood for. Such was the desolating decision 
thrust upon them. 

When the order reached The Sitting Bull’s camp the dancers 
were thrown into confusion. A hurried council was called and the 
leaders were soon decided on the question of giving up the dance. 
Most of them at once said: “It is of no use. The Great Spirit 
has not heard us. There is but one thing to do. Let us obey the 
agent. To fight is foolish.” 

There were others who said: “What does a few months of 
life in captivity matter? Let us dance, and if the white man comes 


to fight let us all die like braves.” And as they spoke the women 
[265] 





The Book of the American Indian 


began to sing old battle songs, urging resistance to the invaders. 
“We can starve and die, for when we die we go to the happy land. 
A little pain and all is over. Let us fight!” 

As soon as the chief had thought the matter out he said: “So 
long as I have cattle or money you shall be fed,” but he had little 
left. He had already given all he had. 

I do not know the mind of my chief at this point. I think 
that at times when his indignation mounted high he, too, said: 
“Tet us fight to the death. The happy hunting grounds are near. 
They await us. Why do we continue in our hunger and despair?” 
And then, as some good man spoke to him, recalled to him the 
friends he had among the palefaces, he had a gleam of hope, and 
recalled his bitter words. 

That he was not afraid I know. Death held nothing appalling. 
Life offered little. Why should he fear to die? He was fifty-six 
years old and his days were nearly done. Furthermore, he could 
not look into the future without pain, for he saw his people slaves 
or vagabonds among an alien race. 

During these weeks fear and hate of him revived among the 
settlers in all the Western states and the papers were filled with 
demands for his death. The near-by white settlers called loudly for 
troops, and some of those to the north went so far as to patrol the 
borders of the reservation in order to meet the warriors of The 
Sitting Bull when they broke forth in war array. They were 
glad of an excuse to utter their charges against us as cumberers of 
the earth, which they desired. Feeling the millions of their fellows 
back of them and knowing that troops were near, they were very 
brave. 

In spite of the agent’s cruel order, a large number of the sternest 
warriors of the Uncapappas remained at Rock Creek, and when he 
saw this he was afraid to carry out his plan for arresting the chief. 
With intent to league himself with cold and snow, he waited for 


winter to fall, keeping vigilant eye on the War Department, lest 
[266] 





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the Secretary should steal away the honor of arresting the chief. 
He was not anxious to invite interference on the part of the mili- 
tary. “I can take care of the reservation,” he repeated to the 
commander of the post. 

The chief understood his feeling and said to my father: “I 
will obey the orders of the great war chief, but I will not be ordered 
about by this agent. He has used me like a dog. The Great Father 
at Washington said to me: ‘Sitting Bull, you are the head of the 
Sioux nation, and I hold you responsible for the conduct of your 
people. Keep the peace.’ I promised him that I would do this, 
but the agent has always turned his back to me or has thrown 
words at me that are like stones or mud. He has lied about me and 
his letters have made the settlers angry. He now wishes to shut 
me up merely that he can smile and say: ‘I am a great chief; I 
have conquered The Sitting Bull.’ This I will not permit him 
to do.” 

Therefore, his armed sentries continued to ride the buttes 
surrounding the camp. No one could come within twenty miles 
of his camp without seeing shadowy horsemen appear and disappear 
on the high hills. Every blanket concealed a weapon, while the 
dance went on almost day and night, and one by one his cattle 
were killed and eaten, till at last all were gone. 

My own position became each day more intolerable. Within 
my heart opposing passions warred. Here were my brothers about 
to fight their last battle — persisting in a defiance which was as 
insane as their religion. I could not deceive myself. The instant 
I returned to the white men and the sight of my books I acknowl- 
edged the tragic desperation of my people. The dance became 
merely another of the religious frenzies which wise men say have 
attacked the human race, at intervals, for ten thousand years. A 
letter from The Blackbird said: “Keep away, Philip. Don’t mix 
in that mess. You can do no good. Your letter makes it evident 


that a tragic end is inevitable. You have done all you can. Throw 
[267] 


The Book of the American Indian 





in your lot with the white man. On the whole, the white man has 
the organization for the new conditions. To die with your people 
would be superb, but it would be wasteful. Don’t do it, my boy. 
Use your best influence against violence, but avoid danger. There 
is work for you to do in helping your people bridge the chasm 
between their mode of life and ours.”’ 

I told him that I was already denounced as a coward and a 
traitor to my race. He replied: “‘No matter; ten years from now 
those who are still alive will see you in the light of a wise leader.” 
And in the spirit of this letter I sent word to my chief, saying 
that it was best to accept the agent’s rule. 

The department did not like to be called rash; it feared the 
influence of the Indians’ friends in the East and so it hesitated, 
and these days of waiting were days of torture to us all. I could 
not look any man in the face. I went about my duties as if I, too, 
were in a trance. I really could have been called a spy, for when 
one of the scouts of my father asked me what was going on at the 
agency I told him I was under suspicion by both races and knew 
not where to turn for comfort. 

The agent required my presence in his office each day, and to 
see my father and my chief meant a night ride of nearly eighty 
miles. This I dared not attempt, for the chief now reasoned that 
I had surely gone over to the enemy and I was certain he would 
not let me come to him. I was despised and rejected of both white 
man and red man, and had no one to comfort me. 

The weather continued mild. Each day I searched the sky 
for signs of a storm. If only a tempest of snow would sweep over 
us it would stop the dancing, it would cool the fury of anger, and 
yet when the hate and contempt of the white man broke forth 
in my presence I hoped that my chief would fight. Better to die 
like the lion than live like a trapped wolf. 

Meanwhile the chief and his little band continued to test the 


new religion, but the Chief was not satisfied. 
[268] 





The Silent Eaters 


“Why do these visions come only to the women and weak 
men? Why do they not come to my ‘Silent Eaters?’ Why does 
it not happen that I can go and see these things and return?” 

He was growing weary of his prison and longed for the bright 
world where the spirits were. At last he came to a great resolution. 
He determined to leave the reservation and visit The Kicking 
Bear in order to learn more of the Messiah. He wished to know 
whether any new revelation had been made to other tribes. He 
had exhausted the value of the phenomena in his own camp and 
remained unconvinced. 

He said: “The agent is going to send for me soon. I may go 
to the agency and I may not. No matter. You must not get into 
trouble on my account.” 

Can you imagine what it means to a chief, when his proud, 
free race sinks to the position of beggars and children, forbidden 
to trade, forbidden to hunt, forbidden to make presents, ordered 
into line like cattle, debarred from amusement like convicts, and 
condemned to wear the white man’s cast-off clothing? 

“If this religion is true, then we may hope. If it is not, then 
all is over,” he said. “I will myself go seek those who saw the 
wonder worker. Perhaps I shall find him and he will take pity 
on us and save us from destruction. Wait patiently till I return, 
for then you will know the truth.” 

He arranged to leave at daybreak, and his guard was to follow 
him later to see that he was not mistreated. There were not many 
of the “Silent Eaters” now, but they were ready to go where he 
went, and die with him if need rose. 

I do not pretend to follow the turnings of his mind, but I think 
he had resolved to leave the reservation even at the risk of being 
arrested and brought back by the police, considering that the 
word and the promise he sought to verify were worth more than 
anything else on the earth. 


It must have been in some such mood that he prepared for 
[269] 





The Book of the American Indian 


his long journey, while still the dance went on, and the white people 
accused him of leading a revolt. 


XIV 
THE DEATH OF THE CHIEF 


Tur news of the chief’s intended departure, which was brought 
to the agent by a spy, decided him to act at once. In accordance 
with instructions from the department he went to Colonel Drum, 
the commander of the garrison, and arranged to seize the chief 
before he rose the next morning. The native police were to make 
the arrest, but the troops were to be within supporting distance 
and to share in the honor! 

The leaders of the police were enemies of the chief. The Shave 
Head was especially malignant. The reason was this: When The 
Sitting Bull visited the Crows in 1884 Shave Head accompanied 
him. During a dance one night the Crows grossly insulted the 
visitors and Shave Head wished to kill them, but the chief counseled 
mild speaking. “‘We must not quarrel,” he said, and went away. 
Shave Head was very angry, and for his forbearance called The 
Sitting Bull a coward, when, as a matter of fact, a single gesture 
by this reckless fool might have involved the whole camp in an 
uproar. Thereafter he lost no opportunity for insulting and annoy- 
ing the chief, who bore it patiently, knowing that a harsh word in 
reply would only make matters worse. 

Big Head, the lieutenant of police, was also opposed to the chief; 
in truth the entire force was carefully chosen from those hangers- 
on at the agency or from the Yanktonaise, ready, under the white 
man’s pay, to act against the chief, whose contempt for such traitors 
and weaklings was well known. In the days of The Sitting Bull’s 
power these factions existed. The Gall and The Gray Bear were 
jealous of his great fame, although The Gall never became actually 
disloyal. The Gray Bear did and lost no chance of doing his old 


chief harm. It is a disgraceful thing to say of my people, but some 
[270] 


The Silent Eaters 


of them, for a new uniform and twenty dollars, would kill their 
blood relatives. Witness the so-called “scouts” of the army in 
Arizona. 

My father says that The Sitting Bull advised against all vio- 
lence, but I must admit that his supporters were armed and that 
they had sworn to protect him against mistreatment. Perhaps 
he accepted their loyalty gratefully, and when he decided to go 
forth on his search for the Messiah they asked to go with him in 
a body. 

It would not seem strange to me if he had decided never to 
be taken from his people alive. 

He was growing old, and to suffer exile would be to die linger- 
ingly. How much he knew of the agent’s plan to imprison him 
I do not know, but I have heard him assert his right (which the 
commissioner had orally given him) to come and go as any other 
citizen of the state. As chief man of his nation he considered it 
a gross injustice to be told, “You shall not cross this line.” “So 
long as I go peaceably and feed myself I do not see what right the 
agent has to object. Washington has said it and I go.” 

On the night before his departure he addressed the “Silent 
Eaters.” “Be peaceful, do nothing harsh,” he said; “wait for my 
return. I go to visit Mato. Perhaps he has a new message for 
us. Perhaps he has again visited the Messiah. If he has not, 
then we will go together.” 

He was at the dance till midnight and, being weary was still 
sleeping soundly when just before dawn Bull Head and seven 
other renegades gathered silently round his bed. 

As Bull Head laid a hand on him the chief opened his eyes and 
quietly asked. ‘‘What do you want?” 

“Be silent. The agent wants you to come to him,” Bull Head 
replied in a low voice. ‘‘ Get up quickly.” 

The chief lay for a time in thought. He saw the armed men 


and knew them to be enemies. Across the room his wife was sleeping 
[271] 





The Book of the American Indian 


with her children. Resistance would mean death. He did not 
wish to die in her presence. 

“Very well,” he said, calmly, “I will go.” He partly rose. ‘But 
I must dress. It is cold, I wish to wear my new overcoat. Let 
me wake my wife to fetch it.” 

Bull Head, less savage than Shave Head, said: ‘“‘Good. We 
will wait,” but as the wife realized what these men had come to 
do she began to wail, “They will take him away,” and this wakened 
the children, who also began to cry. 

Soon many feet were heard running rapidly. Catching up 
their blankets and concealing their rifles beneath their garments, 
the “Silent Eaters’ came hurrying to the rescue, not knowing 
what was happening, but ready for battle. 

The whole camp was in a tumult before Bull Head could rush 
The Sitting Bull to the threshold. 

One of the first of the old guard was The Bear Catcher, a man 
of fiery resolution, who cried out in a loud voice: “They are 
taking our chief. Let us prevent them.” 

Bull Head replied: “‘The agent has ordered it. Keep away!” 

Bear Catcher again cried: “Let us stop this thing,” and, fling- 
ing aside his blanket, leveled his rifle at Bull Head and fired. The 
renegade fell, but in falling shot the chief. At almost the same 
instant Shave Head, recreant dog, seized the opportunity to put 
a bullet into the great heart of my chief, who fell and died with- 
out speaking a word, while the battle went on above his prostrate 
body. 

For a time nothing could be heard but the shouts of the warring 
ones and the crack of their guns. When it was ended eight of 
the “Silent Eaters”? lay dead beside their chief, and with them 
fell four renegades who went to their tragic end under a mistaken 
call of duty — to be forever execrated for slaying their chief at 
the white man’s command. 


Taking shelter in the house, the other traitors killed the mute 
[272] 


33 





The Silent Eaters 


son of the chief and were about to be burned out by the “Silent 
Eaters”? when the sound of a cannon on the hill announced the 
coming of the soldiers. The renegades were saved by the bluecoats. 


It is well that the body of my chief fell into the hands of his 
honorable enemies, for it was being mutilated when the colonel 
interfered. There were Sioux warriors so misbegotten that they 
were ready to crush the dead lion’s helpless head, but the white 
commander of the garrison took every precaution that the bones of 
the chief should lie undisturbed in death. 

The post surgeon at Fort Yates received the body and prepared 
it for burial. In the afternoon of the following day it was sewn 
up in canvas and placed in a coffin and buried in the northeast 
corner of the military cemetery, without ceremony and with few 
to mourn, though far away my people were waiting in unappeas- 
able grief over the passing of their great leader. 

And so it is that in spite of vandal white men and traitorous 
reds the dust of my chieftain lies undisturbed in a neglected corner 
of a drear little military graveyard, near the Great Muddy River 
which was the eastern boundary of his lands. The sod is hot with 
untempered sun in summer, and viled with snow in winter, but in 
early spring the wild roses bloom on the primeval sod above his 
bones. No hand cares for the grave, no one visits it, and yet, never- 
theless, the name written on that whitewashed board is secure on 
the walls of the red man’s pantheon, together with that of Red 
Jacket and Tecumseh, Osceola and Black Hawk. Civilization 
marches above his face, but the heel of the oppressor cannot wear 
from the record of his race the name of “Ta-tank-yo-tanka,” 
The Sitting Bull. 

He epitomized the epic, tragic story of my kind. His life spanned 
the gulf between the days of our freedom and the death of every 
custom native to us. He saw the invader come and he watched the 


buffalo disappear. Within the half century of his conscious life 
[273] 








The Book of the American Indian 


he witnessed greater changes and comprehended more of my 
tribe’s tragic history than any other red man. 

These are the words of my father, the chief of the “Silent Eaters,” 
and his voice was tremulous as he spoke them: “‘Ta-tank-yo-tanka 
was a great chief and a good man. He had nothing bad about him. 
He was ever peacemaker, and just and honorable in his dealings. 
He cared only for the good of his people. He was unselfish and 
careful of others. He will grow bigger like a mountain as he recedes 
into the past. He was chief among red men and we shall never see 
his like again. If the Great Spirit does not hate his red children, 
our Father is happy in the home of the spirits — the land of the 
returning buffalo.” 


THE END 


[274] 








— o_o 


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